


BROTHERS AND HEROES

by roxymissrose



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 104,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce, Clark, and Lex. Closer than brothers, more than heroes.</p><p>Originally posted 5-16-2006</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Brothers and Heroes**

Over the wash of the waves against the beach, Bruce could hear a steady slap-slap of water, coming from the rocks. He was pretty certain he was the only one on the Hotel’s private beach, but it sounded like feet splashing around in water to him.

Curious, he crawled up over the rocks and stopped to watch a boy stalking about in ankle deep water. It was funny, he looked like a little old man, all bent and frowning, but he had the reddest hair Bruce had ever seen, clown red. No wonder the kid had a hat on, he’d wear a hat too if he had clown hair. 

He slid quietly over the rocks, fascinated by the sight of bright red hair climbing out from under the edge of the big hat and burning skin—the boy was red as the lobsters they boiled on the beach sometimes and where he wasn’t red, he was dotted with big copper freckles. Bruce looked down at his own brown arms and a little shudder ran through him as he wondered what it must feel like to boil like a lobster. The boy’s arms and legs were long and stick like, projecting from the bottoms of baggy khaki shorts rolled up, and a shirt looking just a little too small and tight. He must have had a growth spurt, that’s what Dad called it, he mused, watching the awkward movements of the kid. 

He pulled his legs up into a tailor squat on the rock; his sturdy brown legs and arms crossed over each other and settled in to watch the kid, so fascinating, so odd and alien to Bruce. 

He watched the boy write in a big notebook. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth and it wiggled as he stared at the water and wrote, stared at the water and wrote some more. He had a jar full of water next to him and a little net lay on the rock he leaned against. He must be experimenting in the tide pools, Bruce figured, and curiosity finally drove him to the boy’s side. “Whatcha doin’?”

No reaction from the kid at all. “I’m wondering why you’re bothering me,” he said. He looked up and he had funny colored eyes, they looked like glass, like the eyes of his mom’s dolls. Hard to tell in the too bright light if they were blue or green. A scowl turned the corners of his mouth down so far, they turned out. Across his nose little gray flakes of skin were trying to lift off, and that was pretty fascinating too, Bruce thought. He itched to reach out and pull a flake loose, but that would be—not a bright thing to do. This kid was obviously not the friendly type but Bruce was out to make a friend. This boy was the only other boy at the hotel. They needed to band together so they wouldn’t die of boredom.

The other boy spoke again. “If you were trying to scare me, you were pretty bad. I heard you coming across the rocks a long time ago. I have excellent hearing,” he said. Not like he was bragging, just stating a fact. Now Bruce was even more curious. “What’s your name?” he asked. 

The boy sighed deeply. “Alexander,” he said.

Bruce waited a moment but Alexander didn’t ask so he went ahead and said, “My name is Bruce.”

Alexander made a sound that could have been acknowledgement, could have meant beat it just as well. 

Bruce was an optimist, a confident and sunny kind of kid—he just plowed ahead. His dad always told him that he was fearless. Well, maybe so—except for bats and rats, he wasn’t afraid of much.

 

Bruce watched Alexander for a bit and got ready to ask the boy another question when the kid slipped and fell in the water, soaking himself and slamming his knee against a rock. His knee immediately began to bleed, it was streaked with scratches and he grabbed it in both hands. He looked so startled, so betrayed, his hat slipped to the side of his head, clown hair hanging in wet rat tails over his face, His mouth was comically wide, his eyes perfectly round.

Bruce felt a hot wave of laughter try to pour out of his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He just knew—one laugh, one giggle, one little snort and he’d lose any chance at being friends with this weird kid. And he really wanted to be his buddy. 

He stood motionless while the boy dragged himself out of the water, gathered up his things and pulled himself back up on a rock. He was making a terrible wheezing sound, and he held his head down and just…sat. Bruce came over and sat next to him. Silent, waiting. He was pretty sure just sitting was the right thing to do. He felt a brief surge of admiration for the boy. That knee had to hurt and he hadn’t made a peep.

After a little while Alexander said, “I can’t swim.” Bruce nodded, still silent. “I’m afraid of water.”

Bruce shrugged. “Every body’s afraid of something.”

“My daddy says you should face your fear.”

Bruce nodded again. “Yeah. But it’s probably okay to face it with a friend, too.”

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. “Yes.” He looked down and pushed his soggy notebook further up on the rock with his sandal-clad foot. The boys squinted against the sun and sat silently, listening to the plish of wavelets against the rock, and the raw sound of gulls calling to each other in the sky. The warm sun made Bruce feel relaxed, like a giant hand was patting him all over at once. He felt comfortable just sitting with Alexander. 

After a while Alexander said, “Thanks for not laughing.”

Bruce shrugged, and kicked his foot in the warm water. “If you’re a guy’s friend you shouldn’t laugh at him.”

Alexander frowned slightly at Bruce, searching his face for something, and then he smiled.

Bruce had to smile back. Alexander didn’t look like an old man when he smiled; he looked like a regular kid. With clown hair, Bruce grinned.

Sometimes friendships happened just like that—sudden and complete.


	2. Chapter 2

That summer they not only became friends themselves but brought three families together: the Luthors, The Waynes and the Kents. 

Alexander’s parents were the Luthors, Lionel, a new money man who married old money—Lillian, a Metropolis socialite. Bruce’s parents were the Waynes, Thomas and Martha, both doctors, both old money, the type of people that believed having money was a privilege and not a right and public service was a moral requirement. The Kents were younger than the other couples by a little, they’d met and married in college, Martha Kent was also old money of the Wayne stamp, but her husband Jonathan was a farmer, a researcher, and developer of the Kent Early corn, a variety that went far towards helping rebuild a still struggling middle America in the wake of the disaster that brought so many farmers to ruin.

The boys’ friendship helped to bond them all together, Bruce’s open friendliness and empathy helped to pull the Kents to them. Martha always had an air of sadness about her, and maybe that was why Bruce was drawn to her. He found lots of ways to be nice to her, and it always made him feel good to have her smile at him or hug him. A part of him just knew somehow that she needed to give those hugs as much as he liked getting them. 

The women often shopped together in the small town, searching for antiques, playing at being patrons to the local artists. Lillian had a love for art, one that Martha Kent shared, and Martha Wayne or Mattie, as she preferred, couldn’t resist searching out interesting bits of Americana. It seemed the town was stuffed to the rafters with it, all ancient bits of home grown art someone’s dear departed granny made ever so long ago, never mind that the paint was tacky sometimes or the piece smelled of the raw wood still.

 

This day in particular, the boys revolted against their mothers and refused to enter one more store that they’d need to stand like little soldiers in and Not Touch A Thing. They were granted victory and at the moment, sat happily on a bench outside and waited for their mothers to finish shopping.

Anyone walking by would have seen two young boys engaged in an animated conversation, apparently about earth-shattering events. One dark, one pale, both with hair liberally creamed and combed to the side in the style of the day, Bruce’s perfectly black and perfectly in place, Alexander’s bright red, and already breaking free of its Brylcreem bonds. 

Somewhere, some how along the walk, Bruce’s madras shirt had been re-buttoned so that it was crooked, one collar point standing up and the other tucked in, Lex looked freshly pressed and ironed and not at all like they’d taken a long walk in the hot slightly humid July air. Except for the tendrils of red hair reaching for freedom.

They kicked their feet back and forth and talked about comics, Bruce holding forth on the abilities of Adam Strange, Lex arguing that the comic was silly….

“See, he’s really cool, he owns a whole planet! He saves them all the time!”

“He’s stupid. He’s got a stupid power. He’s getting by out of dumb luck--Ow!”

Bruce looked at Lex, puzzled, gasped when a rill of blood ran down Lex’s knee.

“What—” A rock hit Lex square in the middle of his plaid covered chest and Bruce dodged a rock that bounced harmlessly off the back of the bench.

A group of boys stood across the street, making faces and noise at them—gap toothed, buzz cut, grimy tees and blown out sneakers, they were local kids out to have fun with the rich brats that took up space every summer, pushing them out of their own town. 

A rock flew through the air again and hit Lex, an off center strike on the chin. 

In an instant Bruce flew off the bench and plowed into the group, Alexander sat frozen in fear—those boys were older, bigger, meaner, and Bruce was whaling away like crazy. Alexander yelled, “Damn it!” it was the worst curse he knew, and he jumped off the bench, running towards the cursing scuffling pile of boy—he knew he was going to die and vaguely regretted that fact, but Bruce needed him. 

He heard grunts and felt dull blows, he kicked and bit and scratched and in general fought like a girl he guessed, but he was hurting someone, that was for sure. He heard a howl and then stars filled his head, a black cloud exploded in his brain and there might have even been little tweeting birds. The tweets suddenly became his mom screaming at the boys, Mrs. Kent was yelling something and Mom was holding his face, tears running down her cheeks as she wiped at his lip. A vague thought pushed through the cotton in his head, ‘she’s going to mess up her pretty handkerchief,’ and he licked himself and tasted blood. 

Bruce was sitting next to him, blood on his cheek, a fat lip and a bruise blooming above one eye—and grinning, the rat. There was nothing funny here. His face hurt like crazy and he might have gotten kicked in the ribs…he grinned back at Bruce even though his lip felt like it was on fire. Sure, his eyes were watery and he’d pound anyone that said he was crying, but…he'd helped a friend. A friend helped him. 

It was a real good feeling.

BWLLCK

Later that night Alexander walked to the dining room to join his parents for dinner. The other adults were there already, and Bruce sat next to his dad, looking a little reserved for once.   
Alexander started to walk to his own seat at the table when his father stopped him.

“Lex, instead of dinner with us, you’ll stay in your room tonight, and think about what you did today.” He stood and gestured towards the doorway. “You lost control of your emotions and in doing so gave over control to your social inferiors. I want you to think of other ways you might have handled the situation.” He sat again and Lex was dismissed from his mind. He stood for a moment—his mother looked sad for him but said not a word. The men acted like it never happened. 

His dad had waited until he’d dressed and come to dinner and was under the eyes of everyone who was important to him before beginning to punish him….

Only Martha Kent seemed to really see him, her eyes were…angry. She was upset on his behalf and it was that that broke his paralysis. He was humiliated, by his father and by her pity for him.   
Lex turned crisply as a soldier and marched away. Still and straight and quiet until he reached his room. 

Tears broke out once he was sure he was alone, his door shut, blinds drawn. Sometimes he hated his dad, and sometimes he hated his mom. She never stood up for him. Ever. She didn’t love him, she just said she did. She wouldn’t let bad things happen to him, if she did.

After a while, there was a knock at his door and he opened it, expecting his dad and hoping against hope it was his mom. His stomach quivered as he twisted the handle and pulled the door back. 

It was Bruce and the relief that swept him was like a dash into cool water. 

“Hey, I brought you somethin’ to eat,” he said and pulled a squashed napkin full of chicken slices and stuffing from his shorts pocket. It was mashed together and thoroughly unappetizing looking and Lex reached out for it and thanked Bruce so sincerely Bruce blushed. “Yeah well, it wasn’t right, what your dad did.’

Lex was shocked—someone else saw it and agreed? Bruce was the coolest. He decided right then that the fight had been worth whatever his dad decided to do. 

“So,” Bruce said, “tough luck hunh? At least you don’t have to do what I did. I had to write a hundred times 'I will not fight'.” He stretched his legs out against the blanket with oars and buoys all over it and scratched carefully at the scab on his cheek. “And then I had to write ‘I will write entire sentences’ a hundred times.” He grinned. “But at least all you had to do was go without dinner.”

Alexander tried to swallow the lump of chicken and stuffing stuck in his suddenly bone dry throat. Bruce thought this was his punishment? He didn’t get it at all…he was momentarily disappointed by Bruce, and wanted to yell at him to get the heck out. But that would be stupid. How could Bruce know? How could he even imagine, he thought. Look at Bruce’s dad and how nice he was to him. _Write a hundred lines._ Lex snorted, and Bruce looked at him. 

“What's wrong?” 

Lex smiled and shook his head. “Nothing, nothing, you’re just strange—the way you jumped off that bench,” he grinned.”

Bruce grinned back, “What about the way you jumped on that guy, screaming like a cat in a roomful of rockers!” 

“Yeah, well, I got some licks in, right?”

“That you did,” Bruce laughed. He sobered. “Sorry about your lip.” His dad said that Alexander would always carry that scar. 

Lex shrugged. “Hey, it’s like a…a badge of honor right?”

“Yeah! You’re right!” He stuck his hand out. “And we’re like, blood brothers now, 'cause we got a lot of it all over each other.”

Lex laughed, grabbed Bruce’s hand and shook. “Yeah, we did at that.” He shook his head. “You’re a mess, Bruce. You remind me of Spooky, you know, the tuff little ghost?”

“Spooky? Only girls read that comic--and if I’m Spooky, that makes you Casper. Only not nearly as friendly.”

Lex threw a bit of chicken at Bruce. “Shut up! Looks who’s talking! Casper’s an old lady comic!”

“Is that any way to talk to your brother?” Bruce asked, sounding offended and grinned when Lex looked worried. “Don’t be dumb. We’re friends forever—no matter how bad your taste is!” Bruce laughed.

BWLLCK

 _Sept.12, 19___

_Dear Casper,  
How are you doing? School is boring. No one here is as funny as you are. There is one kid I trade comics with but that is all.  
Next week, my dad and I are going to New York. It is the Big Apple and The Shadow lives there. Maybe I will be lucky and see him.   
Your freind,   
Bruce_

* * *   
_September 19, 19___

_Dear Spooky,  
Your letter was thrilling reading. I was in suspense the entire time. What an exciting missive.   
My mother and dad are taking me to the Metropolis Aquarium on Saturday. Does Gotham have one? I’m interested but I think my fascination for tidal pools and water life is on the wane. That means not as interesting to me as it was before. If there are parts of this letter you don’t understand, I will be happy to explain them to you.  
Your friend, (notice the spelling)  
Lex_

* * * 

_Back of postcard of the clock tower of Gotham’s city hall_

Dear Casper,  
Shut up!  
That’s no way to treat a freind. A freind doesn’t correct another freind’s spelling. It’s just not right.   
You giant pile of gopher guts.  
Your freind,  
Bruce.

_back of postcard of Metropolis’ Aquarium_

Friend. Friend. Friend.  
Your FRIEND,  
Alexander

BWLLCK

1  
Bruce was writing his third letter to Lex that month. They only had weeks to go before school was out and Lex hadn’t told him yet what they were supposed to bring this summer. He hadn’t written back about the chicken pox Bruce had, or the fact that Lisa Barks had tried to kiss him in the coat closet, or the dead bat they’d found in the car, and he hadn’t screamed or nothing.

Was Lex mad at him? Was he mad about Lisa Barks? Maybe he was jealous because he had a girlfriend. Sort of, he guessed.

He wrote again and sent off the mail. He wrote again and got no answer, wrote again and this time told him he was a lousy friend and he didn’t like him any more either so there. And he kissed some other girls and he wasn’t going to tell him about that either, because he stunk.

Some days later, when his dad managed to pry from him why he was going about in a funk and snapping at every one, Mr. Wayne called the Luthor household and received distressing news.

Lex had been in the hospital the last few weeks, very ill. Bruce was horrified, and the Waynes decided that they’d spend their holiday in Gotham, doing whatever they could to help. Bruce felt like a dog, lowest of the low. 

His friend was sick all this time and he’d been so mean…how could he apologize?

BWLLCK

2  
Bruce poked his head around the door and Lex’s face lit up at the sight. “Come in please! I was waiting for you; your dad said you were coming up!” Lex tossed a little radio down on the bed, a tiny tinny voice coming from it.

Bruce was a little frightened. Lex looked the same color as the white sheets, almost the same color as the pale green walls of his room. He was under a thin blanket, stuff running into his arm and his nose; he was wearing a weird muffin shaped white hat and ugly blue pajamas. 

There were beeping machines and tubes and wires and stuff draped around his bed and the curtains were drawn, making the room dark as night even though it was the middle of the afternoon. Lex looked tiny in the bed, so small, like the china dolls his mom had. All eyes and lashes and nothing else…maybe he should hold his hand, or something…he didn’t seem mad about the stupid letters he sent. “Are you sure you want to see me?”

“Of course, you dope! Come here!”

Bruce ran forward. “You must feel better, you’re mean again!”

Lex laughed, but it was light and weak compared to Lex’s usual laugh. Bruce felt concerned but hid it. He said, “Hey, I was pretty crabby this summer and kind of stupid, but when you didn’t answer my letters I thought…”

Lex frowned, “You wrote? I didn’t get any letters. But I was pretty sick for a long time,” he said. And…he looked at Bruce, pleading in his eyes, and Bruce hopped up on the bed with him, avoiding wire and tubes deftly.

“What’s going on, Casper?” 

A broken laugh escaped Lex’s clenched jaw. “Casper’s right…I have to show you something…. Promise me--promise…crap.” He closed his eyes, took a deep shaky breath and yanked the cap off of his head and Bruce gasped. 

Lex was bald, his head was completely smooth. All that wonderful clown hair was gone, gone with not a hint of it left behind. Lex trembled, his eyes still closed, and Bruce reached out slowly, slowly touched Lex’s scalp, fear and wonder making his touch hesitant, gentle. His fingers stoked over Lex’s bare head. The skin was soft as a bunny he’d had once, and very warm. He pressed a little harder and smoothed his palm over it. “Wow, Lex, it feels…nice.” And blushed and moved his hand away.

Lex opened his eyes. “You’re not creeped out by it? I know I look strange. I can see it in the nurse’s faces; they look like they don’t want to touch me. My dad…”

Bruce made a spitting sound. “It’s fine! You look fine! Not weird, just different. You’re still my friend, okay? Brothers!”

Lex smiled, relief evident in his posture, the softening of his expression. “Oh good. Do you…do you want to hear what happened?”

Bruce nodded yes and crawled further up the bed to lay down with Lex. Lex began to describe the day that he got sick. 

 

“—and the meteors were on fire, burning from entering the atmosphere. You see, when an object—”

Bruce slapped his palm over Lex’s mouth. 

“Story first, lesson later, Mr.Wizard.” Lex nodded and went on, describing how his hair fell out, and how the Kents and his dad found him in the field and how a little boy was in the car with them…he’d never seen the boy before and he was _naked!_

Bruce was scandalized to Lex’s satisfaction. He went on to describe how the boy was dirty all over and Martha held him like she wasn’t ever going to let him go and Bruce nodded. Sounded right.

“The kid,” Lex went on, “was sweet, a real cute little kid, he petted my cheek and,” Lex laughed, “I actually felt better, can you believe it? I went right to sleep.”

Bruce frowned. “No, not really. So what happened then?” 

“Then,” Lex said, “I ended up here and they keep doing things to me. They keep taking my blood and making me pee in things and I can’t even take a crap without them scooping it up!”

“No!” Bruce was properly outraged and disgusted for his friend. What the heck do they do with the crap?" he wondered. 

“Beats me,” Lex said, “but boy, I’m sick of this. And lately,” he whispered. “They’ve been…doing things that...that make me cry.” He cut his eyes at Bruce, looking for ridicule but Bruce looked angry.

“What do you mean?” 

Lex showed him his arm. “Look. See that line?” 

Bruce nodded. A long pink scratch stood out on his arm. “Yesterday, they took a knife and cut me. It bled.” Bruce gasped and Lex grimaced. “It was deep, it hurt like crazy.”

“But—that’s a couple of days old!”

“No, it’s from yesterday. I’m trying to tell you, I can heal up a cut fast. Faster. I don’t know why. It’s kind of—scary. Real scary. They’ve been poking me and cutting me and,” his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “they took this thing and scooped out some meat.”

Bruce yelped. “No! No they didn’t!” Lex lifted the sheet, and showed Bruce the fleshy part of his thigh and sure enough, a shallow depression marred the smooth skin. 

Bruce was horrified. “Damn!” Lex nodded, it was a situation that required and forgave cursing. 

Lex’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. 

“Tell your dad what’s happening Lex! Make him tell them to stop!”

Lex blinked and the tears ran over. “Who do you think told them to do that?” 

Bruce was shocked speechless. How could that be? How could your own father let strangers hurt you? 

Lex shook his head. “He explained it wasn’t a punishment, that I had something valuable to contribute and I should feel proud, but mostly I just felt hurt.”

Mr. Wayne came in just then, a big smile that hid nothing of the anger and something else Lex couldn’t understand in his eyes. He patted Lex gently on the arm and told him, “I’m going to be your doctor now, for a little while anyway. No more of that,” he said, smoothing warm calloused fingers over the pink line on Alex’s arm. "We’re going to get you better and out of here.”

Lionel came up behind him and smiled at Lex. “You’re going home, son, soon as we can get you on your feet again.” 

Lex stared up at his dad. “Thank you, dad.” 

Lionel flinched a little, and smiled.

BWLLCK

3  
Late that evening Bruce sat on the porch of a cheerful yellow farmhouse, a big house with white shutters and flowers at every window, and a huge porch wrapped around the front and sides. He sat on a deep cushioned swing chair hanging on the side porch, his feet propped up on the arm and his head cradled by pillows. He had one in his arms, warming his chest and he was content, drowsing in and out of sleep. His father’s voice caught his attention and he sharpened. 

“Mattie and I can help forge information and a birth certificate, make it seem as though the boy was born in one of her charity clinics. Lionel has paper work in progress creating an adoption agency that the boy can be adopted through.”

He heard a murmur of voices and a sound like someone crying, and then Mr. Kent’s voice came through the open window, “Martha and I are grateful. Very grateful.”

Lionel’s voice next, “And the Ross’s? Can I count on you to help them decide in favor of selling their factory? For a colored man, he’s extremely stubborn and--”

“Bill Ross is a good _man."_ Mr. Kent's voice floated after and Bruce knew his emphasis of man meant something important. 

“No doubt, no doubt. Well, it has been pleasant, but we really must be going. Morning comes quickly, and we want to be well rested before we spend the day with Alexander tomorrow.” Lionel said.

Bruce feigned sleep as the Luthors left the farmhouse and drove away. 

Mr. Wayne and Mr. Kent stood on the porch and watched the red of the car taillights disappear into the distance. 

“You know, if it weren’t for Lillian I’d never have anything to do with that man. But he had to be a part of this and we need to do everything we can to insure that your new son is safe. We must _never_ let that man know that he’s so special.”

Mr. Kent said, “Amen to that. I don’t like being around him but the girls are devoted to one another…and Clark needs to be safe so I guess I have a duty to be nice to that ass.” He sighed, disgruntled.

“Jon, I know that’s tough for you, you’re never been one to suffer fools lightly.”

“Well…as long as he doesn’t know about Clark—the way he treated his own son, Clark wouldn’t last a minute. Martha’s already attached to the boy. I wouldn’t want her to suffer, Tom.”

“Oh no, no, it’s all for Martha’s sake we’re doing this.” Bruce peeked out from under his lashes and saw his dad put an arm around Mr. Kent and laugh a little. “You’re as crazy about this little boy as she is, Jon. Mattie and I are both pleased as hell for you.” He squeezed Jonathan against his side and let him go with a light slap on the shoulder. “Let me wake up Bruce and I guess we’ll be on our way too.” 

Bruce acted sleepy and groggy when his dad shook his shoulder and followed him into the house. He crawled into his mom’s lap, harder and harder to do since he was growing so much, like a weed, his mom said. 

Mrs. Kent came out of the rear of the large house holding a bundle against her shoulder. The bundle lifted and it was a boy wrapped in a red and blue blanket, a much bigger boy than Bruce expected. He looked at Bruce with big green eyes and a solemn little face and then—threw him a smile made his face seem to glow. Just like Lex’s smiles, this one made Bruce want to smile back at him. The boy—Clark—wiggled down from Martha’s arms and ran over to Bruce, patted his arm. 

“Hi.” Bruce said. 

Mr. Kent said, “He doesn’t talk, not yet—but he does love to listen.”

Dad laughed and said, “Bruce, you may have found your perfect friend.”

Bruce smiled on the outside but fumed on the inside. Clark was looking at him, his big eyes on him and his lips turned up into a big smile. Nope. His friend was better than anyone else. This kid was okay but he already had his _perfect_ friend.

BWLLCK

1  
The next summer at the Hotel was the summer Bruce turned nine. Things were a little different for all of them, now that the Kents had little Clark. Clark never spoke, even though he looked pretty smart, and really did seem to understand everything. 

Dad said Clark was special and they had to be very careful with him, not to get him upset or anything. Which pretty much meant Clark got whatever he wanted. All Clark had to do was let his lip quiver and he got ice cream or Bruce’s book or Bruce’s time, whatever the brat wanted, the brat got. And Lex—what a traitor. He thought it was all so cute. He practically broke his neck for Clark. It made Bruce so mad. What ever that brat wanted Lex ran to get. If they were talking and Clark came up and whined, Lex dropped everything and ignored Bruce. 

For most of that summer, Bruce tried to figure out what made Clark special—besides not speaking. Bruce knew he could make noise, sometimes when he got excited he made some noises that reminded him a little of being in the Chinese Market with Dad. Not that Clark was speaking Chinese, Bruce was pretty sure because his dad didn’t understand what Clark was saying. But being quiet didn’t make him special. In fact, he was pretty much like any other little kid Bruce had ever seen; whiny, snotty, pukey… he didn’t get it. 

And one day when he and Lex and of course, Clark—because everywhere Lex went Clark went—were splashing around in the water, Clark caught a fish.

He just reached out and snatched it up, so fast that they weren’t sure at first what he’d done. It was cool—at first. And then Clark’s face slowly went from surprised joy to complete horror. He started crying but not like a little kid, it was pretty horrible, the way he did it, loud and hurt-sounding, his little chest was heaving in and out and he held his hand out and just—screamed.

Lex was there first and managed to get Clark to show him his hand, pulled it open. The fish’s head was fine and the fish’s tail was fine, but the fish’s middle was—paste. It oozed between Clark’s baby fingers, and got all over Lex’s hand. Lex was frozen, mouth open, staring at Clark and Clark started screaming harder. 

Bruce grabbed Clark’s fish gut covered hand and pulled him deeper in the water, washed it off and told him over and over again it was okay. He ended up with a soaking wet chest and Clark wrapped around him, crying his heart out and apparently not planning to stop. Finally Lex just—Bruce swore he could see a light bulb go off over his head—grabbed Clark, swung him and Bruce around and yelled at Clark. 

“I’m not afraid of you!” 

Clark hiccupped and slowed a tiny bit.

“I’m not afraid of you. Not a bit afraid, okay?” 

Clark looked at him, the howling tapered off and he slowly nodded.

“Okay now?” 

He nodded, but didn’t let go of Bruce and Bruce felt kind of protective. He patted Clark until Clark finally eased off. Lex held out his hand, and Clark took it and they walked to the hotel together. 

Lex looked at Bruce over Clark’s bobbing head, and the thought went between them, unspoken.  
Clark was different. He really wasn’t like the rest of them. Lex whispered, “Could it be the rocks did it, like they did to me?”

Bruce nodded. It made sense. He looked down at his achy, bruise covered arms, whispered back. “That’s got to be it.”

BWLLCK

2  
The rest of that summer went by in a haze of long golden days. It turned out to be the most perfect time they’d ever had, filled with strolls on the boardwalk, and hot dogs that tasted the best they’d ever had, cotton candy and strawberry pop, sweet and cold and delicious, sticky and red on their lips and chins. 

The water was always warm and the days were always sunny. They swam all day every day, and played pirates in the rocks.

One day Bruce was watching as Lex tried to teach Clark to say ‘yo-ho-ho’ and thought amazing. Lex was pretty amazing. He knew about Vikings and Indians and Pirates and he taught Clark how to tie a pirate scarf. He taught them how to make a cup out of leaves like pirates did. He taught Clark how squirt water out of his hands and how to laugh out loud. 

Weird, what you could learn from a book…Bruce watched him day in and day out. Lex made a great older brother, better than him, maybe. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Clark, he just got on his nerves sometimes, and he wanted *so* much attention that it just made him tired. But Lex seemed to always have the time, and the patience—how did he do it? Clark looked at him like he was…Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny rolled into one. Bruce grinned a little. Maybe he wanted Clark to look at him like that too. It’d be nice if Lex would….

He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching Clark how to skip stones and not thinking about Lex.

BWLLCK

3  
Plans were made for the three households to spend the Christmas holidays together that year. Right after Christmas, the families planned to vacation at the Wayne estate through the New Year together. Lillian was ill part of the time, and Martha and Mattie were always able to help her through the bad times. Lillian begged Lionel to let her spend the holidays with her friends and because he loved her, he agreed. The same scenario played out in two other houses, and the three boys were beside themselves with anticipation.

_Dec. 2, 19___

_Dear Casper,  
I’m really looking forward to seeing you after Christmas. When I get that b-b gun like I asked for, we’re going to have fun. Dad made me promise not to shoot birds, can you believe it? Like he’d have to tell us that. Good guys don’t hurt animals. Unless I see a weasel trying to kill a bird. Then I’ll shoot it. But we have lots of space for target practice and Dad said he’d get targets for me too. Also they told me ix-nay on the no Santa Claus thing with little Poop-Head. Mr. and Mrs. Kent do that Santa thing, so don’t spoil it for them. Miss Martha would really be sad if we told him. _

_Write me back.  
Spooky_

_* * *  
December 7, 19___

_Spooky,  
First of all you would be the last person I’d give a loaded weapon of any kind to. I’ll be sure to protect my eyes and wear a steel cup when we come. I’m looking forward to missing the target repeatedly. I enjoy games that lower my self –esteem. I plan to teach you to play chess this holiday, maybe that way I’ll be able to regain my feeling of superiority. _

_Secondly, it’s cute that Clark believes in Santa. You should have heard him get all excited about Christmas on the phone. Anyway, I assume he was excited. Basically he just yelled my name a lot. Looking forward to seeing you too, don’t call him poop-head.  
Your friend,  
Casper_

_* * *_

_Alexander,  
You talked to Clark on the phone? You didn’t call me? Clark can talk? Why didn’t you call me?  
Bruce_

_* * *  
December 15, 19___

_Dear Bruce,  
I’m sorry I didn’t call you but we write to each other all the time. It just didn’t occur to me._

_Clark can’t write so his mom calls me to talk to him. He’s starting to talk, he can say ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ and ‘cow’. Make him say moo when you see him, it’s absolutely the funniest thing._

_I’ll ask dad if I can call you. He might say yes, I got exceptionals all this year in school and you know how he is about performance. Clark calls me Lexer. It’s so funny.  
Your friend,  
Lex_

_* * *  
Dear Lexer,  
I asked Dad, I can call you the day before Christmas Eve. Pretty cool, right?   
I’ll talk to you then, Lexer. That’s a week from now Lexer so make sure you’re home Lexer.  
Your buddy,  
Spooky Bruce_


	3. Chapter 3

1  
Bruce and his parents waited in line at the Odeon, and Bruce was excited. It’d been a few days since he had even seen his mom and dad, so this was a double treat—a movie and a chance to be with his parents. Mattie and Thomas were talking, leaning in towards each other, eyes sparkling—they were enjoying this treat in their own way. The days had been hectic at his office and her clinic; this time of year seemed to bring so much ill health, so many accidents, so many unhappy people. They’d spent even less time with each other less than they’d spent with Bruce; basically their interaction consisted of saying goodnight at bedtime and collapsing into sleep. 

Bruce didn’t want to interrupt their time together so he concentrated on looking at the people around him. He found faces fascinating. He loved watching people and imagining their stories…maybe someday he would be a writer, he thought. Mom always said his stories were good. The line moved ahead and his thoughts turned to more important things like could he get milk duds _and_ popcorn—and a seat up front by himself.

 

They were waiting on the street for a cab, about to head for a late dinner. Bruce was totally excited to be able to stay up so late and go to dinner even! He was happily and loudly describing the movie they’d all seen to his parents, who listened as though they hadn’t seen it, exclaiming at all the exciting parts.

“And then the part where the fly went in that thing, and didn’t you know he was going to turn into a part man, part fly-monster! Ewwww!” he shivered happily. “That was so gross!” 

“Stop where you are.” 

A gravely voice grated against his ear, made the hair on Bruce’s neck raise, and he turned towards his father. The harsh blue light of the streetlamps turned his parents into oddly colored strangers, his dad looked like he was trying hard to be calm, reached slowly for his coat buttons….“Hey, hey now, let’s be calm…I’m going for my wallet, all right, let’s just stay calm.” His dad reached into his coat, and his mom suddenly gasped. Her eyes were huge and round, her voice was shaking when she said, “You’ve been to the clinic, haven’t you? I know you, don’t I?”

His dad turned stricken eyes towards her and the man holding the gun jerked back into the shadows, away from the light—shot his mother. Shot his dad, trained the gun on him—

Time slowed, the gun lowered, swung towards him and it took a thousand years…

He heard from far away his mother’s voice, “Please!” and the smile that rolled back the man’s lips went on and on and…

The gun turned back towards his parents, time slipped back into its groove and a flash came from the muzzle of the gun, once, twice.

His mother coughed and flopped to her back His dad grunted and jerked on the pavement. The man reached down, and ripped the wallet from his dad s hand, dumped his mom’s purse on the ground and flipped through the mess. He yanked her wrist up to pull her watch off, and Bruce’s paralysis broke—he leaped screaming on the man’s back, beating at him, kicking at him. He was slammed to the ground, the gun in thief’s hand adding weight to the punch. 

Blood spilled from his mouth and he lay on the ground trying to breath. With the smile still peeling the lips back from his teeth the man backed away. “See ya later, squirt,” he chuckled.

The voice sat in his head long after the man had gone, and the police came, and pulled him away from his parents, long after Alfred rescued him from the station and brought him back home, all sleepless night long.

BWLLCK

2  
Christmas eve came and went and Christmas day also, without a call from Bruce. The evening of the twenty-sixth brought a phone call. Lex’s mother answered the phone, a smile of anticipation on her lips. 

Lex was watching her as the blood drained from her face and she dropped the phone to the floor with a crash that made Lex jump and for some reason start to cry. His mother folded gently to the floor and he went running to her side.

His father came into the hall, a frown on his face until he saw the two in tears, Lillian holding Alexander on her lap, both of them pale as milk. Her eyes looked black against the ghostly pallor of her face and Lionel snatched up the phone.

“Hello! Yes, we’re still here, Pennyworth, yes…oh. Oh my god—are you sure—well of course you’re sure, forgive me—when? Oh no.” Lionel’s eyes shot toward Lex, who stared at him open mouthed, his face wet with forgotten tears. “Thank you. Yes, we’ll be there tomorrow. Thank you.”

Lillian sobbed on, her head in her hands and Alexander patted her shoulder awkwardly. His heart raced in fear. “What is it, Daddy? What’s wrong?”

Lionel crouched next to them and wrapped Lex’s shoulder in his big hand. For once, it felt like comfort. 

“Bruce’s parents…had an accident,” he began, “They…died. I’m sorry.”

Lillian cried on in her own little world of grief and Lex didn’t know who to reach out to. His father was in front of him and his hand was still on his shoulder warm and light, not trying to buckle his knees and before he knew it, he was in his father’s arms, crying. “Bruce—is Bruce—”

“Bruce is fine, he’s not hurt. We’ll see him tomorrow. The Kents will be there too.” 

“Clark is going to be so sad—he won’t understand,” Alexander cried. 

Lionel pulled Lex back and smiled a small but warm smile. “Clark is old enough. He’s a little slow, but you can explain. You understand for him.”

Lex nodded solemnly. He could do that  
.   
“Son, I have to look after your mother now,” and the spell broke, Lionel was at his mother’s side and he was dismissed and his father’s back was to him, curved over the hunched figure of his mother. 

Lex went to his room and tried to imagine a planet without Bruce’s parents in it. A Bruce all alone…he sniffed hard. Maybe…maybe he could get Mom and Dad to adopt Bruce, he could live with them and they could be real brothers. That’d be great. Then they could see each other all the time. Bruce would get used to city life after a while. Lex knew he would. Bruce was tough.

BWLLCK

3  
The funeral had been pretty strange, so many, many people had known the Waynes, there were rich people and people who looked poor. Bruce said his parents had a lot of friends who were poor. They were people the Waynes had helped. Bruce said that like he was proud of it, and Lex thought that yeah, it was something to be proud of. 

He watched Bruce in his black suit standing solemnly next to Alfred, looking like a hero, shaking hands with guys towering over him, talking to him like he was a dummy but never getting mad, never showing how sad he was. Bruce was the bravest kid in the world. 

Clark nodded, and Lex was startled he’d said it aloud. He didn’t think he had. He looked down at Clark pressed against his side and thumb in his mouth. Lex sighed. He’d thought he’d talked Clark out of that. “Clark,” he said, and he looked up and grinned around his thumb before whipping it put of his mouth and shoving his wet hand behind his back.

”I thought we got that settled. Big boys don’t suck their thumbs.” 

Clark nodded somberly and his eyes were huge and innocent, a thin rim of green around black pupils and Lex knew darn well Clark was full of it. “Don’t try the beagle eyes with me—I’m not your mom, I’m immune to your stuff.”

Clark giggled and repeated “Mune”. 

Lex nodded, “Right. Im--mune. Look at me all you want, I don’t care.”

“Yes, Lexer, care,” Clark said distractedly and stared at Bruce. Finally it became too much for him and he broke free of Lex’s restraining arm and flew into Bruce. 

Bruce grunted with the force of Clark tackling him, and staggered a bit into Alfred, but he hugged Clark back and let him stand by his side. 

Lionel shot Lex a dark look; he’d failed in this one small thing he had to do—keep Clark quiet and still. Lex dropped his head, and swore. For a split second he was mad at Clark but common sense took over. It wasn’t Clark’s fault. No matter how much he told him he was a big boy now, truth was Clark was still a baby and it _was_ his fault alone. He didn’t need to look at his dad again. He knew the expression on his face. His stomach tightened.

When Clark looked his way again and waved, he smiled at him.

BWLLCK

4  
Later the boys were allowed to share a room—even the Luthors recognized that the boys needed to comfort each other the way only kids understood.

Bruce lay on his back in the crowded bed, and stared at the ceiling, tears that he’d kept in check all day running freely down his face. “And they want me to go with them—Mom and Dad had it arranged so they’d keep me if something happened and they never even said anything to me. Don’t you think they should have told me?”

Lex grunted, keeping quiet. Bruce just needed him to listen, not offer his opinion. 

“Why not you, then you and me could have been brothers for real, you know? I mean, we’re nearly the same age…now I got a snotty little brother who hardly can talk and…” he drew in a shuddery breath. “I’m never going to see my mom and dad again. Except…except I have these night mares and I do see them again, only they’re all bloody and, sometimes my mom tries to say my name but it’s all gooshy sounding, ‘cause there’s blood in her mouth.”

Bruce shivered hard and Lex jumped up from his place at the foot of the bed and sat next to Bruce, wrapped his arms around him. “It’s not real, Bruce, it’s just dreams.”

Bruce nodded “I know but…that guy that shot them—I’m going to find him one day Lex. I’m going to find him and make him hurt all over, hurt like he hurt me and my folks. I’m going to find him and—and—kill him!”

Lex nodded, rubbing Bruce’s back. “I’ll help you, okay? When you find him, I’ll help you do whatever you want to do to him, all right?”

Bruce sighed, deep and long. “Sure.” He looked at Lex. “Clark is my brother now. Clark. Snotty, bratty, eat all the Sugar-Pops and pee in the bed, Clark.” He shuddered. “Why?”

Lex bristled. “Come on now, Clark’s not that bad, and he really likes you, you know. He thinks you’re a hero. He thinks you’re real brave. And he doesn’t pee in the bed anymore, or suck his thumb…much. He’s not a brat Bruce, he’s just.” Lex waved his hand, shrugged one-sided ”Unh, sensitive.”

‘Yeah,” Bruce muttered, “Like Bugs Bunny, he’s sensitive. Listen, who’s his mom, you or Miss Martha? Stop sticking up for him. Or you’ll make him stay a baby. He’s got to toughen up. Learn life’s not fair, for cryin’ out loud. “

Lex grabbed Bruce’s arm hard enough to make him yelp. “Hey!”

“Don’t, Bruce! Please don’t be like that with Clark. If you think being tough with him is going to toughen him up, you’re wrong. It’ll just hurt him, and make him think you don’t like him. He’ll think he’s done something wrong and after a while, he’ll think he can’t ever do anything right, and that’s not the way a kid should live…”

Bruce watched Lex’s face and let the wave of frustration ebb and he knew Lex wasn’t just talking about Clark. “Okay, okay, don’t worry. I might not be as nice as you, Sister Bertrille, but I’ll be nice to Clark. Even though he can’t be bothered to learn _my_ name. Lexer.”

Lex punched him. Clark refused to say Bruce’s name. No amount of coaxing would get him to attempt it. He spoke lots of words now, and made sentences that were understandable, but he wouldn’t say Bruce’s name. It was starting to be a sore point with Bruce. Silly, but it bugged him. 

Later that evening, when everyone slept, Bruce crawled out of bed to use the bathroom. He stood over the bowl, peeing in the total silence of the night. It made a funny sound; he snorted, yawned sleepily and waited. Finished, he turned on the faucet to wash, Mom got really bent if he didn’t wash…a little sob broke out before he could catch it. 

A tiny voice behind him said, “Don’t cry, Bruce.”

He whirled around in shock—he thought he was the only one up.

Clark stood in the doorway, puffy faced and drool-crusted from sleep. His hair stood up all over and he squinted against the bright light. “Bruce?”

“You said my name!”

Clark shrugged. “Thirsty, Bruce.”

Bruce felt stupidly pleased and poured Clark a glass of water.

“Thank, Bruce.”

“Thanks.” Bruce corrected and Clark smiled.

“Yeah. Thank.” He handed the glass back to Bruce and yawned, a jaw-cracking impressive display, and wished Bruce goodnight. Bruce wished him goodnight back and Clark padded out of the bathroom in his footed pajamas. He stopped, turned around and his eyes got big for a moment. “Brother,” he said, his voice full of wonder, and trotted off to his bedroom. Bruce stood in the bathroom, holding the empty glass and feeling alive for the first time since his parents died and Alfred abandoned him at the Kents.

BWLLCK

5  
A year had passed, a summer gone by and another one came before they returned to the Hotel.

 

The Kents stood on the wide porch that graced the Hotel, waving back to the boys as they waved to them. They were headed off to the beach, carrying blankets and baskets of snacks. Lex’s radio bounced against his side and the boys argued good-naturedly over who should control the radio. Bruce swore he’d drown himself if Clark was boss of the radio. Clark gave him a dirty look. “I’m going to tell Mom you’re picking on me.”

“Aww, shut up, before I give you something you can tell her.”

Lex looked at Bruce disapprovingly, his eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled a little.

“What,” Bruce crabbed. “It’d take me all day long to beat him up. He gets stronger and stronger all the time. He’s like a tank already. It takes a whole lot to bruise Clark.” He grinned proudly at the boy, who looked at him strangely.

Later they were laying on the rocks, watching Clark play in the tide pools and Bruce elbowed Lex. “Look, that’s like you, hunh? All serious and being the scientist.’

Lex smiled fondly down at the little boy. “You’re lucky Bruce—you don’t ever have to be alone, now. And no matter what happens, you’ll always have someone who loves you.”

Bruce rolled to his back and let the sun warm his belly; spread his arms out on the warm rock so the sun could touch every part of him. “Hmmp.” He grunted. “Thought I already did.”

“Who…oh!” Lex grinned and flopped to his back like Bruce, spread his arms out too. 

Bruce opened one eye and looked at him. He looked like a broiled starfish. “Yeah, you. And when are you going to remember the sun-block, like Dad…like we always try to remind you?”

“Shut up.” Lex was quiet for a few minutes, and then said, “They love you, you know that right?” he looked over at Bruce whose eyes were shut. 

Bruce frowned. ”I know they do, and I do love them too, it’s just…” He sighed and flopped to his stomach, looking out across the rocks. “I’m glad it was them—if it had to be, I’m real glad it’s them.” 

"Well, Bruce Wayne–Kent, I’d say you’re lucky. Oh excuse me, I meant to say Bruce Spooky Wayne-Kent.” Lex laughed and Clark looked up at the rock for a second. He called out to Lex and Lex jumped up. “I’m coming kiddo,’ he called back and stuck his tongue out at Bruce when he snorted. 

Lex met Clark by the little depression filled with water and readied himself to help Clark understand whatever he’d found.

‘Lex,” Clark started, “Lex, am I weird?”

‘What? Heck no. Why do you ask?”

“Because what Bruce said about me is true. I see other kids fall down and bleed—I haven’t had a knee bleed or anything for a long time. I can run faster than the whole first grade—and I can jump higher and lots of stuff doesn’t hurt me, like falling off my bike.”

“Clark, you know you’re a little different, but so am I. I don’t bleed for long and I don’t get sick. I used to have asthma but not anymore and you know why?”

Clark watched Lex, eyes big and fascinated, he shook his head no. 

“The meteorites that are all over Smallville. They changed us, made us better. You know it, I know it, and Bruce and your mom and dad know it. But no one else should know. It’s not something you can talk about—except to me. We’re not weird, we’re just different. Okay?”

Clark nodded and hugged Lex, carefully. 

Since the fall and Clark’s accidental killing of a robin fledgling, the Kents and Bruce had worked with him to control his strength. Lex had thought it adorable and maybe just a little bit scary when for Thanksgiving, he'd been dropped off at the Kent’s farm. Got out of the car to find the yard had been riddled with burst rubber balls and Clark had come running to him to make him watch as he carefully squeezed a little rubber ball without popping it. He'd done it with a look of total concentration and Lex’s heart had warmed when Clark grinned at him in triumph. 

“See! No broken balls anymore,” he'd sung out, and then, had looked over at a copse of trees off to one side of the front yard. ‘No more broken birds,” he'd sighed. And Lex had—still felt— like crying for the poor kid.

BWLLCK

6  
After dinner, when they were tucked into their beds and talking idly, Lex finally told them the reason why his parents hadn’t come with this year.   
“My mom’s having a baby.”

“What, really?” Bruce said, flopping over to his side and grinning at Lex, “that’s great—I guess, is it great Lex? I know you always wanted a baby brother—though it might be a sister.”

“Ew!" Clark said. “Don’t choose a girl Lex. No one wants a sister. Girls are icky.’

Bruce laughed. “Clark! You don’t get a choice”

He gaped at Lex. “But—is that true, Lex? What about Bruce?” He cut his eyes toward Bruce. “He got a choose.”

Bruce jerked upright in his bed, “Listen you- I didn’t—“

Lex cut in. “You don’t get to choose exactly. You love who you get, boy or girl. Just like Bruce loves you, and you love Bruce, right?’

Clark nodded but looked at Bruce with a worried expression. Bruce sighed—he’d managed to mess Clark’s mind up again. 

He pulled up his blanket and called him over. “Come on, peanut brain, jump in with me.”

Clark hopped up happily, all grins and hurt forgotten, he jumped into bed with Bruce. “Okay now?” Bruce asked and Clark just snorted happily and scrunched down.

Lex laughed. “See? Happy family!” Bruce told Lex to shut up, but he was grinning. Clark insisted Lex join them, and soon the bed was filled to bursting, arguments broke out about covers and pillows and stinky feet and elbows. They laughed louder and louder until the door opened and the light flashed on. 

Jonathan stood in the doorway, an enormous scowl on his face. “What the heck is going on in here?” he barked.

The boys tried to stifle laughter and make excuses and he promised horrible retribution if they didn’t pipe down, and left, but not before Lex caught the little smile on his face. Bruce and Clark were giggling, snorting as they tried to keep quiet and Lex felt like he was floating.  
Family.

BWLLCK

 _November 19___

_Dear Bruce,_

_Good news! I have a brother now too. His name is Julian, and he’s red and wrinkly and kind of smelly. But he’s my brother and I’m really happy to have someone to look up to me like Clark looks up to you.  
My mom is feeling a little down. She’s a little sick now but she should be okay pretty soon, that’s what the nurse says. We have a nurse live in to help with the baby, and I get to sit in the bedroom when mom feeds Julian, some times, I get to hold the bottle for him, which I really enjoy, he’s so funny with his snuffly face and the noises! He sounds like a little pig, and FYI, no one thinks it’s funny when you say that out loud. But I absolutely draw the line at changing his diapers, I can forgo that pleasure thank you.  
Write me soon—maybe we can call for Thanksgiving, I’ll ask Dad.   
Love,   
Lex_

_* * *  
Casper,_

_I’m happy for you. I’m glad it was a boy. Clark is writing you a letter to, because I was going deaf, listening to him whine about it.  
So expect one soon and for god’s sake write him right back.   
Love, Spooky_

_* * *  
Dear Lex,  
Hello. How are you? It is ~~neci~~ nice you have a broher to. Do’t forget me   
Your fienrd Clark._

_* * *_

_November 19___

_Dear Clark,  
I could never forget you. Don’t you worry, you and Julian will be best friends one day, just like Bruce and I, but I’ll always think of you as my brother.   
Love,   
Your friend,  
Lex._

_******_

BWLLCK

1  
“Bruce?”

“Lex! Great! You called—I was beginning to think you weren’t going to—what’s wrong?” silence spread down the wires and filled Bruce’s ear. “Lex! What’s wrong?’

Lex’s voice shook when he spoke. “Bruce, do you like me?”

Bruce blushed hard. “’Course I like you,’ he said. “You’re my man, you know that.”. Something terrible happened…“What’s going on?”

‘Is there something wrong with me? I mean—“

Bruce cut in,"—you’re different, I like it. You’re not like anyone else, I like that.”

Lex started crying. “I had a party— I tried to have a party. My dad made me invite kids from my class to my birthday party—thanks for the present by the way—I was going to write you, I really love Sherlock Holmes—thanks—”

"Lex! What happened?” Bruce was upset. Lex didn’t cry easy—hell, he got his lip split almost in half and he didn’t cry. 

“No one came! I told him no one would come. I wanted to die—no one came. And he—he tried to make me feel better, he told me a story about this box I got from my mom, about St. George—“

Bruce nodded before remembering Lex couldn’t hear him nod. ‘Yes, I know the story of St George—“

“He told me to put my fears in the box…he hugged me…it was nice. And…“ Lex’s voice shivered and hitched as he struggled not to cry. “I’m sorry. I feel like an idiot, whining like a baby. The party was a stupid idea. The kids are stupid. I’m going to another school, Mom said. I don’t want to go back to this one. Mom wants me to go to a boarding school though, Bruce. I’ll be away all year long. She’s sending me away and I know why…she hates me…”

Bruce was shocked. “That’s not true, Lex, I promise you, it’s not true. You’re a great person, I’m proud to be your friend—if I could, I’d—I’d beat the snot out of all of those idiots in your class. Go to the new school, Lex, it’ll be better, you’ll see. I.”

"What?" Lex sniffed, “You what?”

“I have to hang up now, Lex, but remember, I’m your best friend. Always.”

Lex thanked him and they hung up. Bruce stared at the phone and whispered. "I’m sorry.”

BWLLCK

2  
The vacation that year was less of a vacation and more a long season of mourning. Julian had died, crib death it was explained, and reported as so in the papers. Lionel thought their annual vacation at the Hotel was necessary, getting them out of the public eye and giving Lillian a chance to recover from the grief that hung like poisonous mist in every room of the townhouse.

Martha spent most of the time doing her best to comfort and support Lillian, even though she felt shattered herself. Lillian had been sick even before Julian died, but now she appeared even more faded. Her skin looked paper thin and so white—her hair seemed less a vibrant red and more a dull mahogany. Her eyes stared blankly out at the world, half in it and half far away. She spoke little to anyone besides Martha and Lex waited on her hand and foot with little acknowledgement from her. She spoke of her love for her infant son in whispers; her looks for Lex were haunted and pained and Lex looked desperate and lonely.

The boys grieved also, almost unnoticed by the adults. Bruce tried his best to help Lex, but he didn’t know what to say, what to do to pierce the bubble of pain he lived in. He was trapped in his own pain—he couldn’t believe that Julian was gone. He’d been so—so alive, kicking his fat little legs, his wispy clown red hair, the same color as Lex’s, waving all over his head. He’d looked so healthy with his pink cheeks and Bruce loved looking at him through the crib bars, poking him gently in the belly. It made him giggle—Bruce’s eyes flooded—used to make him giggle. 

The loss brought back dreams that had slowly faded, dreams of his parents, crying and crying and begging him for...something….

BWLLCK

The Kents were the only guests taking advantage of the Hotel porch that evening. Lionel and Lillian had retired early and as usual, Lex stayed in the boys' room to read. 

Martha and Jonathan sat side by side on the wicker couch, Jon’s arm around her and Clark dozing on her lap. Bruce lay behind the white wicker couch, stretched full length on the floorboards. His back was slightly chilled and his tummy was warm from the wood giving up the heat of the day. He drifted along on the comforting drone of voices, the low breathy snores coming from Clark as he slept in his mom’s lap. 

Bruce realized that they were talking about Lex, seemed very concerned about him. Bruce went small and silent as possible, hoping they wouldn’t notice he was still on the porch with them. Martha asked Jonathan what he thought was going on in the Luthor household, and the wicker creaked as he moved. 

“I don’t know, love. I know they’re going through very bad times right now.” He had Clark in his arms. “I’m going to put him to bed, be right back.”

Bruce listened to the footsteps fade, and the warmth under him and the slight chill over him made him doze off a little himself—conversation woke him up again.

He heard Martha say, “Lillian is falling to pieces. She’s never been all that strong but this—this has been devastating for her. I can’t begin to imagine how horrible it must be.” 

Bruce shuddered himself. It *was* horrible to lose someone you loved, it was the worst thing you could ever think of….

“You know, Martha, I understand that but I can’t understand how they could let Alexander just kind of—flounder on his own like that. That poor kid doesn’t know which way to turn.”

“I’m going to ask if we can keep Lex a few days before school starts. I think it’ll be best for all of them.”

Jon agreed, and then hesitated before speaking again. “Martha, does it feel to you like Lillian doesn’t want to spend time with Alexander? Or am I imagining that?”

“You see it too? It’s so odd, but then, her behavior this summer has been odd period. I think between the stress of losing Mattie and Tom, and then the horror of losing her baby…I don’t think I could handle it either, Jon.”

“Um, that’s true, that’s true…but, I think we should try to keep an eye on Lex. As much as we can, anyway.”

He noticed Bruce then, and told him it was well past his bedtime. Martha and Jon exchanged a slightly worried look as Bruce got up and silently hugged them both before running from the porch and back to their room. 

He wasn’t sure if he understood everything Jon and Martha said, but he understood that Lex was going to stay with them if Mo—Martha had anything to say about it.

It was quiet in their room except for Clark’s soft snoring. Lex was sitting up, reading an Asimov paperback. He looked up and froze when he saw Bruce’s face. “What?” he whispered, careful as ever not to disturb Clark. 

Bruce crawled into his bed. “What happened, Lex? At your house?” 

Lex jerked away from him. “I told you what happened, I already said, Julian died, my mom’s sick and my dad—I guess he’s hurting.”

Bruce grabbed Lex’s arm and pulled him close. “Okay, now tell me what really happened.”

Lex opened his mouth, shuddered a little, and confessed. “I did it. I killed Julian.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tears ran silently from his eyes and his head leaned forward until it was resting on Bruce’s shoulder. He wrapped his fists in Bruce’s flannel pajama shirt and pulled him close, tears soaked through the shirt and undershirt instantly, and Bruce used his sleeve to wipe Lex’s face.

Because he had to do it so often to calm Clark, he began rubbing Lex’s back, rocking him a little, thinking hard while he did so. After a while Lex loosened his hold, and he said, “Lex, how did you kill Julian?”

“It—I—Mom and Dad were fighting. After a party or something, they were screaming at each other again, maybe they were drunk. Dad’s been doing something wrong I think, and Mom was getting more and more upset and.” he took a shaky breath and went on. “They’ve been fighting a lot lately, since Julian was born. I should have been used to it, but this night—I don’t know, I don’t know—it was just too much.” 

He looked at Bruce, his eyes red and watery and snot was beginning to run from his nose. Bruce shifted to hold him closer and Lex shuddered, sniffed hard, and Bruce felt a momentary grateful relief when Lex used his own sleeve to wipe his nose. “What?” he prompted.

“This noise, this screaming and shouting, it just went on and on and it filled up the whole house and Julian started crying and,” Lex looked devastated and choked it out. “Dad made the nurse go home.” He grabbed Bruce’s hand and squeezed it tight enough to make Bruce wince. “Okay…it was bad, and I lost it. I just went nuts, I was so scared, but I was so, so _mad_ too, you know?”

Bruce nodded, and rocked Lex while he struggled to control himself enough to speak. “It was like something broke in my head—I started yelling. I yelled, ‘I wish I was dead’.”

“Oh Lex!”

“Dad hit me, hard enough to make me fall down. I guess I was saying it a lot.” Lex wiped his face.  
“When I got up he was gone. Mom was crying, apologizing to me…she said she was sorry. She said she wished she hadn’t brought me into this life, she said she wished I would stop making her sad. And that Dad was going to do the same thing to Julian that he was doing to me and that…she didn’t want him to grow up and become me.” He broke down and sobbed, “I always knew it, it’s my fault. Everything I touch I screw up, I don’t try hard enough to be good, Dad says…"

He cried so hard Bruce was afraid Clark would wake, so he held him hard against his chest to help muffle the sound. “You don’t have to talk anymore if you don’t want to, it’s all right.”

Lex shook his head. Bruce said, “Wait a little bit.” And Lex nodded, breathing hard. Lex lay still against his chest and Bruce thought how warm he was, did he have a fever, Clark got one if he cried too hard…he stroked Lex’s head, and felt a little prick of guilt at how much he enjoyed it. He should be thinking about Lex’s grief and not how silky his skin was, and how he smelled kind of…good.

Lex sighed and said, “Okay, I want to finish,” Bruce made an encouraging noise and Lex went on.

“She ran out of the room. I heard Julian crying and then, when I found her, she was in Julian’s room and it was quiet. She said, she said…it was better that way. She had a pillow and. She killed him. She killed my brother. Because she didn’t want him to be like me. And Dad came in. She looked so terrified, like she was close to death and Dad, he was—“ Lex ‘s voice broke,”—he was reaching out for Mom, and I thought he was going to kill her so I screamed, I told him I did it—and he believed me!” Lex’s voice was full of horrified wonder, “And Mom just stood there crying and crying and didn’t say a word. Dad said he’d fix it.” Lex shook and drew a deep breath, “He hates me. He looks at me sometime when he thinks I’m not looking. He—it’s this look. It scares me. Like he’s thinking how to hurt me the worst. I’m afraid of what could be worse,” Lex moaned.

Bruce let Lex cry and thought hard. There was nothing he could do for him but keep his secret. Telling Mo—Martha and Jon wouldn’t help. It would just get Lex’s mom in trouble and Lex’s dad fixed it so Lex wasn’t in trouble—

Bruce’s head felt like it wanted to explode. A throbbing pain was working its way from his jaw to his nose. He just held Lex harder.

“Okay, Lex first of all your dad isn’t going to hurt you. Even though he thought you did—what you said, he protected you, he fixed it. He’s not going to do anything, ‘cause he loves you, okay? He’s an asshole for sure but he’s your dad.”

Lex snorted and rolled back from Bruce. “You think so? Am I just being crazy?”

“Yeah. He’s going through a bad patch, your mom being sick and—everything. So relax a little. I know the truth, you have me. It’s going to be better since you told me, okay?”

Lex nodded. “Yeah. I do feel kind of better. I was—I was starting to believe that I had really done it. I had dreams and in my dreams I could see everything, feel it, his little arms hitting me—they’re horrible dreams, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded. He knew about horrible dreams, dreams in which the dead came back and told you lies….

Lex closed his eyes. Bruce watched his eyes move under his eyelids and leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Lex’s eyes shot open, startled for a moment, and then he smiled, shaky, weak, but a smile. Bruce stared at his mouth, leaned closer… 

Clark woke up and huffed, grumpy and bleary—greatly put out that they were having a slumber party and he wasn’t invited. He jumped on the bed, and before Bruce could push him off, Lex asked him to let Clark stay. For a moment he was so angry, not really sure why he was, confused and too warm, and then life flipped back into the real. Lex’s eyes were on him, pleading, eyes too old for his face, Bruce thought. 

“Sure, but he sleeps on your side, that way if he pees, you got the wet spot.” He hoped he sounded normal.

Clark gasped in groggy outrage. “Do not pee! You stink Bruce—you stink like a dead skunk.”

Bruce laughed. “I what?”

Clark growled, “You smell like a skunk, so there.” 

“Well, I guess he told you, Spooky. You stink!”

Clark looked at Lex carefully, trying to see if he was making fun of him and started giggling when he saw Lex wasn’t.

“Shut up everybody and go to sleep and no kicking, ‘someone’.” Bruce snapped but he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

BWLLCK

1  
One morning Bruce woke up to a delicious smell and his first thought was ‘what’s Mom making for breakfast?’ That was followed by a wave of guilt. He had a mom and Martha wasn’t it. But she loved him, and he did love her, very much. He always had. He may not to be able to call her Mom, but Ma came easier to him.

Without fanfare, without asking he began slipping it into his speech and she was careful not to react too obviously. He was comfortable with that. 

It took a little longer for him to think of Jon as something other than... Jonathan. He respected him, he found that there were many reasons that he liked Jon. A lot. He liked the way he greeted everyone when they went around the farm, when he brought him along to the plant that was part of the Kent Company, he liked the way he had a moment for all of his employees, no matter their status. 

He liked the way Jon always took off his hat and tossed it at the coat rack inside the office door, and the “Yeah ” he’d bark out when it landed true, the way he laughed when it flew wide—he liked the way he’d take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. He’d always stop and wink at Bruce and say, "Now, then,” like they were about to share a great secret. Jon seemed to like having him along as much as he liked going

Their eyes were almost the same piercing blue, they had the same general build, the same outlook, and even though Jon was blonde and fair, they were enough alike that people thought Jon was his real dad. Jon would always say yes, Bruce was his son, but he never tried to make Bruce call him dad. His respect for him grew, love grew, and one day, he was just Pop, and that was it. 

Clark. Clark was…an amazing kid. If he absolutely had to he might admit to loving Clark like crazy. He was a handful sometime, and he could be a pest—he was in Bruce’s room all the time—he wore Bruce’s shirts and his pajamas and borrowed his books without asking. He walked in on him in the bathroom, climbed in bed with him at night, which wouldn’t be so bad, if he wasn’t a horrible sleeper. He drooled and snored and he was a kicker. Bruce learned to sleep in a tight ball to save his nuts. 

On the plus side, it was surprisingly easy to talk to Clark about things that bothered him, or subjects Bruce was enthusiastic about. They both loved comics and the movies. Most Saturdays found them at the matinee, watching whatever film was new. He knew most guys didn’t spend as much time with their little brothers, but Clark wasn’t like most little brothers. He was lucky, but he wasn’t about to let Clark know. It just wouldn’t do.

Cool as it was to hang around with Clark, the bathroom thing was becoming a drag. Clark thought nothing of busting in to ask him a question or tell him something about school…he didn’t yell at him, or complain to Ma, but one evening in passing he mentioned to Pop that he had no private time. "I love Clark and all, but he thinks I’m his twenty–four hours a day. I mean, he even walks right in the bathroom when I’m using it. A guy needs some private time,” he groused.

“You do?” Jon asked and blushed a little, “Oh, well, of course you do. Uhmm, right.” He nodded. “Ah, you need a little more private time. Then you—ah—used to? Well, it’s completely natural. And normal. Very normal. And it’s a sign you’re growing into a young man. One I’m very proud, of have I told you that? Ah—because you’re a good person. Yes.” he was bright red at this point. "If you have questions, just ask me anytime—about anything, all right, son?” 

He clapped a hand on Bruce's shoulder and swiftly exited the room, leaving a very confused Bruce in his wake. He had no idea what was the big deal about wanting to take a crap without answering twenty questions while he did. What the heck had that been all about?

Lex laughed like crazy when he called to talk to Clark, and Bruce snagged the phone. He described the conversation to Lex. “Oh man, oh man, that’s rich. You know what he thinks?”

Bruce got annoyed—it wasn’t often that Lex laughed at him but it always stung when it happened. He kept silent and Lex went right on, not noticing. “He thinks you’re pulling the pud—"

“What?”

“Jerking off—masturbating—"

“I know what it means I’m just—why would he think—oh !"

Yeah—oh.” Lex giggled. “That’s so funny. Now your pop knows you jerk off.”

“Shut up. That’s gross. Besides I don’t,” he lied. 

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone does it.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” Lex said.” I just do."

Bruce was quiet for a minute, the thought of Lex—knowing—making him blush heavily. 

Lex coughed. “Hey, you still there—you get pissed off and hang up on me?”

“No, I’m here…do you do…that?”

“Spooky, everyone does it. It’s not that big a deal. Unless you’re doing it in the library or something.”

Bruce laughed. “You’re really sick, you know that?”

“Me? Who wants to know if I get it off or not, you perv Talk to you next weekend” He laughed harder and rang off.

 

Bruce was still saying goodbye when the dial tone broke in.

BWLLCK

2  
Bruce stood on one foot and tucked the other behind his knee, standing perfectly still. He held the phone to his face with both hands, tried to pretend this was an ordinary phone call, that it didn’t hurt like crazy. He fought to keep his voice clear, Lex was upset too, and he didn’t need to add to his distress. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow, I’d have called sooner but it’s been kind of crazy here, trying to get ready and all. I’ll write you as soon as I get to school, and give you my address.”

“Okay, Lex, don’t forget. I—I’ll miss you. How far away is your school, can we visit sometimes?”

“Sure, of course you can. It’s not really very far for you, it’s in Princeton. It’s only about an hour or so from the farm, Dad said, so it’s not impossible.”

“Oh sure, I’m sure Pop would drive us out, god knows Clark’s going to make sure of that.” They both laughed, and then sadness quieted them again. 

“Gosh, I don’t know why I’m acting like you’re moving a million miles away, you’re going to be closer now—“ But Bruce knew it was the loss of family Lex was mourning, and the beginning of a scary new life with no support from anyone….“Bruce. Will you…promise to write me, okay?”

“Hell, yeah, I’ll write you.” He hated that shaky tone in Lex’s voice. “And don’t worry, you’ll make friends, I know you will.”

“I have to go now, Bruce, look for my letter Tell Clark I’ll write him.”

Bruce hung up and hoped Clark wasn’t around and of course, he might as well have yelled for Clark to come, he came sprinting into the room.

“Was that Lex? Is he on the phone—you hung up!” Clark looked betrayed.

“I’m sorry Clark, he had to go.”

“But you hung up and he’s going away and you didn’t let me talk to him."

“Clark. He had to go—he had things to do.”

Clark burst into tears. “You’re always trying to keep him for yourself .You always do ”

Bruce was shocked by the violence of Clark’s tears. He was working himself up into a state, and sometimes he lost control when he got overly agitated. Bruce felt a stab of guilt and tried to calm him down. “Clark, please be quiet, Pop and Ma are going to be angry if you break something. Please kiddo, don’t cry anymore—“

Clark dropped down on the carpet, a wet soggy lump trying not to cry and instead drawing long, shuddery, watery breaths that made Bruce feel even guiltier. 

“Look, he told me to tell you he’ll write you, okay, as soon as he gets to school, he’d gonna write us and…and …send pictures And he’ll call once a month, _god, don’t punish me for lying,_ he thought. Clark was crying easier now, and then Bruce said “He told me to tell you you’re his favorite person in the world, and he’s going to miss you the most.” and Clark’s face lit up. 

“He did? Good.”

Bruce wanted to poke his vocal cords out. What the hell kind of thing was that to say? But it seemed to be just the right thing—Clark was all smiles now, his nose still bright red and drippy, but his eyes were sparkling, and for once instead of looking goofy with his too big teeth, and his big round cartoon character eyes, he looked kind of—almost—nearly—angelic. Cute, like Lex always claimed he was. 

Bruce shook his head. Weird. Clark was one weird little kid. He watched him go hopping off to his room, making some odd noise that was supposed to be kangaroo talk and shook his head again. He knew he’d never been that goofy when he was little.

BWLLCK

At the end of Lex’s first semester at Hessian, a terrible event took place that changed Lex’s life and reminded Bruce how unfair life could be.

Jon picked Bruce up from school, and that was startling to him—Pop didn’t waste gas to pick them up or drive them to school when the school bus came around to pick them up every day. In fact, Pop should be in the greenhouses, he was deeply involved in an important project right now. He was trying to develop a crop that could be planted in the soil around Smallville, something that would leach out the poisons in the ground and be easily destroyed or converted to something harmless. Everyone knew those green stones in the fields were dangerous, did things to people. His family knew they hurt Clark terribly. Kent Farms had long been collecting and trying to dispose of the rocks, and now they were working on decontaminating they land they lay in. 

It was so strange to see Pop away from his work at this time of day that Bruce worried right away. Did something happen at home? Was Ma all right…Clark?

“Bruce,” Jon began, and he took off his hat and squashed the brim in his fingers, Bruce could see that he still had a little grime across the backs of his broad hands. There was a tiny shred of green caught in one of his nails. Bruce’s heart froze _—nonono—don’t let it be Ma, don’t let it be Clark—_ his mind took a leap _—don’t let it be Lex…._

Jon coughed and continued, “Bruce—Lex’s mom passed away last night. We’re going to Metropolis, help out if we can. I already explained to your teachers you wouldn’t be back for a week…you can make up your work when you come back…” he trailed off, staring out of the car window, and Bruce looked at him. 

He knew, with a sudden flash of insight, Pop was thinking about Ma, losing Ma. Tears rose to his eyes and he felt horribly, overwhelmingly sad. Without her, their family would fall apart. But looking at Pop, he realized no—no way. His family would never do that. Not with Pop to look after them, not with his big heart and his love for them. But Lex…without his mom, he really didn’t have a family. What would he do, all alone with just his dad to look out for him, a man who didn’t even seem to like him much?

He shivered, and Pop wrapped a long arm around him, and asked the driver to turn up the heat. He pulled Bruce in to rest on his chest, and Bruce closed his eyes. The smell of damp wool, a woody kind of scent, the smell of fresh dirt was so comforting, it always made him think of Pop. The scratch of his overcoat against his cheek meant safety to Bruce.

Pop was there—smelling of earth, sage and Old Spice, breathing, his heart thumping steady and strong, alive—and at home, Ma was safe and sound, making dinner, or working in the studio Pop built her, indulging her in her new hobby…linseed oil and turpentine was her new perfume. She’d be thinking, sketching, smiling, warm and alive. Clark was at school, cheerful and bright and full of love, making brightly colored ugly pictures of cows with blue spots, or dogs with green ears, just for him…they were all happy, safe, with him, and Lex wasn’t. Lex was separated from them, all alone....

He held onto Jon’s coat and cried his heart out, and Jon patted him and made soothing sounds and let him cry.

 

This time, it was Lex who wore the black suit, stood tall and slim, solemn. Bruce was proud of him. He was like a soldier, like John Wayne. His head was held high, back straight as an arrow, Bruce thought—almost grown-up looking. His eyes looked blue in the low light of the chapel; he looked pale but strong, very strong.

Mr. Luthor sat next to Lex, his head down, every once in a while he’d pat Lex on the knee, or squeeze his hand. Lex didn’t look left or right, and didn’t seem to notice what his dad was doing. He was no place near the chapel, Bruce knew. He didn’t seem to notice anyone.

There were very few people at the service. Lillian’s family were all long gone—Lionel’s family also, Lex had no relatives apart from his dad. The Kents were probably the closest thing Lex had to family, Bruce thought, glad that they could be there when he needed them. Clark kept crowding him, trying to look at Lex. His eyes were huge, and fearful, and Bruce had to pat him on the shoulder over and over to remind him to behave. “Please be a good boy, Clark,” he whispered and Clark nodded, twisting Bruce’s fingers in his own, eyes focused on Lex.

The funeral seemed to grind to a halt rather than have any clear end, one minute people were there and the next not, or so it seemed to Bruce. They were headed to the limo they'd arrived in, when he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him. It was Lex. Now that the funeral was over and they were alone, he looked unsure and worn out. Martha immediately opened her arms and Lex flew into them. 

“I’m so sorry honey, you know I am.” Ma spoke softly against Lex’s cheek and Lex nodded silently. Jon rubbed his shoulders and told him, “You did good today, son. Your mother would have been proud.”

After a moment Lex stepped back and looked down at the ground, he shifted the gravel with his feet, and looked at Bruce and Clark. “Hi…”

Bruce felt strangely reluctant to speak, now that he was in front of him, he felt weird. As if he wasn’t sure he knew Lex anymore. Clark was on him in an instant, arms carefully wrapped around his waist, his cheeks bright red. “Lex,” was all he said, and it was enough to make Lex start to sniff. He bent a little, the top of Clark’s head still under his chin, but barely. He rubbed his face into Clark’s hair.

Martha turned to Jon and told him, “Tell Lionel Lex is coming home with us tonight.” She looked in the man’s direction. He stood next to the long black limousine that the Luthors had arrived in, deep in conversation with a redheaded woman, seemingly oblivious to the fact Lex wasn’t with him. “I doubt he’ll mind.” 

Jon looked momentarily disgusted. ‘I think you’re right. I’ll do that.”

After a brief exchange of words Jon came back, little spots of red on each cheekbone and his blue eyes snapping. “Let’s go,” he told the driver and didn’t speak again, but put his hand on Lex’s shoulder as he climbed into the back of the car with them. Lex pressed himself into the corner and closed his eyes. Clark sat next to him, stroking his back and talking quietly. Every once in a while Lex would nod, and Bruce sat on the opposite bench seat between his mother and the car door, facing them, watching, wondering what Clark was telling Lex. He felt bad—guilty; he was the one who remembered losing a mother—losing family. He should probably be the one comforting Lex, but he didn’t know what to say to make it better this time and the ball of pain in the middle of his chest closed his throat. It was hard to breath. He couldn’t imagine talking….


	5. Chapter 5

1  
Appropriately enough, the weather had been gray and dreary from the service to the grave side, and now the sky finally let loose the rain it’d been threatening all day. The gray cold and rain kept everyone indoors but Bruce braved the chill anyway, walking along the fields behind the greenhouse. He needed to be alone, to think. 

He felt bad about leaving Lex alone, but since he was with Ma and Pop and Clark, he doubted Lex was missing him very much. He stopped and looked over the fields of wheat, listened to the hiss of rain hitting the grassy leaves, watched the heavy heads of the sunflowers along the edge of the fields sway under it. 

A blur wove through the far end of the wheat, bending it like waves, and Bruce stopped and waited. 

Like magic Clark appeared beside him, rubber boots caked with mud and mud all along the hem of his raincoat. 

“Can I walk with you?” 

Bruce shrugged. “Where’s Lex?” He guided them back between the fields and the flowerbeds.

“Asleep.” Clark replied and walked down the muddy paths between beds of chrysanthemums. “What’s wrong, Bruce?”

“Oh, nothing really. Just felt like spending a little time alone—not that I mind you’re here. I’m kind of glad you are.”

“Oh, okay. So, what’s wrong Bruce?”

“Geez, you are really stubborn. I’m—I guess Lex losing his mom made me think of my mom and dad. I didn’t think it could still hurt so bad, you know? Anyway, I just couldn’t sit still—I had to get out, walk around or something.”

Clark nodded and they walked along quietly for a little.

Bruce stopped and looked at him. “And that’s exactly why you’re here, right? Because you knew.” He shook his head in mock irritation. “Jesus, Clark, you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Clark giggled and reached out to grab Bruce’s hand—the minute he touched him Bruce realized that his own hand was ice-cold and dripping, Clark’s hand was dry and hot—standing next to his brother was like sitting next to a fire. “Are you cold, Clark?” He hesitated and asked carefully, “Can you _get_ cold, Clark?”

Clark shook his head no. “Not too much anymore, only if it’s really, really, _really_ cold outside.” Clark sounded a little sad. 

Bruce felt bad. He was always making Clark sad, damn it. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re different for a reason. I think that you’ll change the whole world someday, Clark. It’s your destiny.” 

Clark pushed Bruce and laughed. He said, “Bruce, Devilicus said that to Warrior Angel in issue number twelve!”

He laughed along with Clark, “Yeah, well, it’s true. I believe it of you.”

“Really, Bruce?” Clark looked happy, and leaned against Bruce.

Bruce hugged him. ”Yep.”

They walked along for a bit more and headed back towards the house, waving at the workers as they passed the green houses, stopping in to look at the new plant Pop was working with—they enjoyed their walk. 

Clark talked to Bruce as they made their way back to the house, and Bruce gave Clark all his attention, while Clark told him about his dreams.

“Sometimes I have dreams that I hear a lady's voice and it's nice and soft like Mom’s and she says something I understand in my dreams but not when I wake up,” Clark said.

Bruce flashed back to Clark’s baby hood and the strange language like noises he made then—Clark talked on about his dream, “and then I feel a kiss and it’s all dark, but the dark is warm and nice—and I wake up. Weird, hunh?”

“Um-hum. What do you thing it means?” Bruce asked curiously.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s about Mom and me when I was a baby?” Clark’s interest wandered when a crow flew overhead, huge and black. 

Bruce watched it too, and shuddered. “I don’t like them much. They seem so…sinister.”

Clark laughed. “It’s just a bird, silly. No different from a blue jay, or–a-a robin." He giggled but swung Bruce’s hand a little to show he wasn’t being mean.

"I love you Clark.” Bruce was a little shocked at himself. He usually didn’t get all sappy, but it just seemed the right time to say it. The boy looked at him, and they were almost eye to eye despite the age difference. He smiled like the sun pouring through clouds.

“Really? I love you too.” He squeezed Bruce, gently, and said thank you. “Sometimes, it’s nice to hear.”

Bruce nodded and ruffled his brother’s hair. "Everyone needs to hear it once in a while. I forget to say it, but it’s right here all the time.” He pressed fingers to his chest. 

Clark walked along, a huge smile on his face and he made sure to step in all the deep puddles until mud ran in streams down his boots. They were back in sight of the house, it was nearly dark now, and the lights in the windows called out to them, the smoke wafting away from the chimney promised warmth and put them in mind of hot cocoa and if they were lucky, cookies, or home made bread….

Clark was climbing up the back porch steps and asked Bruce, “Is it okay to tell Lex I love him too?”

“Well, sure,” Bruce said, already standing in the mud room, pulling his feet out of his boots and leaving them on a tray by the door. “Of course it is. He’s like a brother to you, too, I guess.”

Clark sat on the top step, pulling his boots off and fishing his socks out of the bottoms. He pulled them back on his feet and looked at Bruce, his head cocked to one side and his brows drawn together. He shook his head slightly, said thoughtfully. “No…I don’t mean like that,” and went into the house.

Bruce stood at the back door, trying to understand what Clark meant. What he really meant, because he couldn’t have meant…that.

BWLLCK

2  
Clark celebrated his ninth birthday with a few friends from school and his family. Except Lex.

Lex was on a vacation with friends from school. He’d sent Clark a card and a gift, and called him two days before his birthday to wish him well. 

“I’ll send you post cards from Miami, okay?” He’d sounded happy and excited to be going, and Clark told him to have a good time and he was glad that he was making friends. Lex thanked him, and told him yes, he was happy to finally make friends that understood him, be a good boy and he’d see him before the end of the summer.

Clark had hung up and gone straight to his room and shut the door. No one needed to see him acting like a baby. He’d sat on his bed, head down, trying not to get angry, and in the end, had taken his pictures of Lex and put them in his closet. 

The day of his birthday, the hurt was a little less. His friends were great, Pete and Greg and Whit were fun. Bruce seemed to know something was wrong and was extra nice to him. Mom and Pop were great, he got the cowboy cake and the boots he wanted, he got really good books from them and from Bruce, and his own radio. After the cake and ice cream, mom shooed them out side, and there on the driveway was the best gift of all—the greatest bike in the world—a Stingray. 

The guys were excited and a little envious, but Clark let everyone have a turn because that’s what the good guys did. He knew it was the right thing to do, because he caught Bruce smiling at him when he let Pete grab the bike and take off down the drive.

He watched his friends laughing and yelling and having a good time, and part of him felt really good, and part of him was feeling kind of achy and empty. He wondered what Lex was doing right at that moment. 

“Hey Clark! Come on! We’re going to the lake, come with!”

He got permission from Mom and Pop, and they took off to the lake, by foot because the guys hadn’t brought their bikes. Bruce was supposed to go with them, but half way there he took off, told them he’d catch up with them at the lake. Clark watched him go and wondered where he was off to, but the thought flew when the guys took off running. He hurried to catch up with them.

BWLLCK

Pete was splashing in the water, pretending he was a navy frogman, and Greg was floundering after. Whit sat on the dock with him, watching and snickering. 

“Greg’s about as home in the water as a cow, hunh?” He sat on one side of the dock, swinging his feet, and Clark sat on the other side, tossing a little pile of stones he’d collecting into the water. 

“Yeah, but not nearly as graceful,” Clark laughed. He leaned back and let the sun warm his stomach. “I think I’m going to try and swim out to the island today, what do you think?”

The island was a clump of dirt and vegetation, just big enough to support a few trees, close to the center of the lake. It seemed so far away and mysterious to the boys, it was definitely off limits—they were supposed to stick close to the shore. But throughout the summer, they’d swum progressively farther and farther out.

Whit narrowed his eyes at the island, seemed to be deep in thought. “Sure, let’s try it, but leave Pete and Greg—‘specially Greg—at the shore.”

They jumped in and stroked hard and straight to the island, and this time Clark knew he was going to get there—nothing could stop him today. Fear of his parents receded in the adventure of it, the thrill of breaking a taboo and ending a mystery fueling his rebellion. Whit grinned at him from where he stroked away. They were brave as GI Joe, Clark thought, no one could tell him and Whit what to do. He grinned back, and pulled ahead, letting his superior strength push him past Whit, for once letting some of his control slip loose. He enjoyed the pull of muscle, the little burn he felt as he pushed closer to his limits. The sun was hot on his head, the water splashing over him cool and then warm as it slid away, sunlight sparkled off the water and all he could see was the dark shape of the island getting closer and closer. He heard Whit calling him and he sounded so far away, he grinned and spit water and got ready to push even harder and suddenly a spear of pain exploded through him. 

His stomach clenched and clenched and he groaned. Cramps twisted his arms and legs, and he couldn’t help curling into a ball at the pain and nausea. He sank immediately. Water filed his mouth when he opened it involuntarily in a shout of pain, water filled his nose when he gasped…his eyes were open, it was murky and dark, except for the glitter of green winking at him from the lake bottom, it reached out fingers of sickly glowing jade that scrabbled through the water, wanting him, reaching to drag him down and hold him under until his head pounded and rang and his lungs hammered, his lungs exploded….

Lex was there, his gray eyes shining like stars in the dark. His arms were under him, lifting him back to the light and air, away from the pain that folded him in two. Lex dragged him out to the bank; his warm hands were all over him, his legs, his arms, bringing life back into his frozen limbs. The sun behind him flashed like a halo around his smooth head—Clark thought he was beautiful and as he tried to tell him so, Lex leaned over him and pressed his lips against his frozen ones and breathed and breathed and—

Clark rolled to his side and vomited water, he hurt from head to toe and his lungs and throat burned as he gulped in painful draughts of air. His stomach ached as it emptied it self. He heard a voice calling over and over “Clark, Clark, please be okay, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I’m sorry--” 

Clark rolled back and looked up into Bruce’s pale and panicked face, tears standing in his eyes and his hands gripping his biceps so hard it actually hurt him.

 _"You_ saved me,” Clark said, and Bruce shook his head, “Not just me–your friend, Whit, he helped,” and Whit’s face was in front of Clark, eyes wide and teeth chattering. 

“Yu-You okay, Ca-Clark?” Whit asked and shivered, skinny arms wrapped around his skinny chest. The sky was so bright a blue it hurt, some bird some where was making a racket. He could hear Pete and Greg’s excited voices, begging him to be okay; he rolled his eyes toward Bruce’s.

 _"You_ saved me,” he said again, and closed his eyes. He felt Bruce’s hands jerk closed over his shoulders and shake him. “I’m fine, I just have to rest—I’m fine,” he managed to force out. His face was wet and he let tears run because no one would know he was crying.

“Okay, okay.” Bruce sat, and pulled Clark into his lap, and hugged him. “God, you scared the piss out of us.” 

Clark snorted, and then opened his eyes again, and said, “It was you who saved me.”   
Bruce nodded—it wasn’t until years later he realized Clark was accusing him, not thanking him. “Clark, you have to stay away from that side of the lake—I think there’s something in the water that makes you sick, you understand?” he said seriously and Clark nodded, his eyes on his friends.

He understood. 

Maybe Whit or Pete would swim out to the island some day, heck, maybe even Greg, but he never would. He couldn’t, because he wasn’t like Whit or Pete or Greg. He wasn’t like Bruce. He was some kind of freak, a one and only kind of freak.

That night Clark dreamed that he was in the water again, and Lex with him, it was Lex he pulled to safety, pressed his lips to his until the chill of his mouth faded and Lex drew in a shuddery breath and opened his eyes. They were gray, blue, they went through him. He could feel the piercing gaze filling him, warming up every part of him; the warmth flowed back out of his hands and into Lex’s skin. His skin, smooth, like clean washed sheets pulled flat across his bed, warm, like sheets fresh from drying in the sun. He smelled like cotton…Clark rubbed his face harder and harder against him...he woke with a gasp. He felt so strange and scared and really good all at once. He lay for a little bit and then jumped up and pulled one of Lex’s pictures out of the closet where he’d thrown them all and stuffed it under his pillow, then ran to Bruce’s room. 

He hopped up on his bed. “Scoot over,” he said, and Bruce growled, mostly still asleep. “Clark…you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just—I don’t know. Scared. Or something. Thanks for not telling Mom and Pop. Pop would have lost his mind, and you know Mom…”

“Yeah, no sweat. I think you suffered enough, right? And by the way, thanks for giving _me_ a heart attack.” But Bruce rolled back a little and let Clark shove under him. “Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

Clark felt safe again, grounded some how. Bruce’s snores filled the air, vibrated through him and his warmth soothed him and eventually lulled him back to a dreamless sleep.

BWLLCK

3  
 _September 6, 19___

_Dear Lex,  
Well, it’s the start of another school year, and it’s going to be as boring as the last. I thought my freshman year had to be more interesting and at least a little more challenging than 8th grade, but it looks like I’ll be sleeping through this year too. _

_How was summer this year? I didn’t hear from you about your trip or anything. Nothing bad happened, did it?  
I hope you come home soon, I missed you. It sucks we didn’t go to the hotel last summer. I hope we go this year.   
Clark misses you a lot too. He’s getting big—I mean huge! You can’t even tell he’s 9, he looks 12 or 13. And that gets him in trouble sometimes because people expect him to act older. He’s starting to pick it up, he’s too mature for his age, poor kid. Talk to him and let him know it’s okay to be a little kid. He always acts like he’s the older brother, like he’s got to take care of me.   
Love,  
Bruce.  
P.S. write me, do you want me to send you Warrior Angel or can you get it out there?_

_* * *_

_September 20, 19___

_Dear Bruce,  
Well, I’m in another school, so write me at the address on the envelope. I would have written sooner but I’ve had a truly frustrating summer. When I came back from Miami, my dad informed me that I was leaving Hessian. So besides the fact I have to get used to a new place, I didn’t even get to say good-bye to the friends I made at Hessian. No one I know goes to Excelsior and the kids there are all phonies, stuck-up rich kids. I mean rich kids. I don’t think these are the kind of kids who’ve ever picked up after themselves or made a sandwich or anything on their own. Obviously this is my punishment for enjoying life too much.  
Lex  
p.s. yes! Please send the comics, yes!_

_* * *_

_Dear Lex,  
I hope you have a good year at your new school. Please come and see me when you can, it’s been a long time. I like school this year, I have nice friends. Whit’s dog had puppies and I want to ask Pop if I can have one. Wish me luck!  
Your very best friend,  
Love, Clark_

_* * *_

4  
Summer flew by and fall brought with it a new set of changes for all the boys, Bruce was a freshman in high school, Lex was trying to adjust to life in a new school, and Clark was in fifth grade, learning more and more about himself. What he was learning wasn’t making life easier. Everything was confusing him. Where his life had been a simple set of rules, “don’t do that, do this”—it now took on shades of gray that made it feel like he was dancing in a minefield. He was finding it harder and harder to control his strength, something that had been second nature for him since kindergarten… _things_ were happening to him, things he didn’t understand. His skin hurt, his bones ached fiercely all the time. Sometimes he woke up from sleep with headaches so painful all he could do was bite his pillow and cry.

He was frightened by changes he didn’t understand and he couldn’t talk to Whit or Pete about it, that was definitely against the rules. He was alone in this. He wanted to talk to Lex but what if he frightened him? He couldn’t live if Lex pulled away from him. It hurt when his brother looked away from him; it felt like it was the end of the world when his parents had that look in their eyes, that moment of hesitation. He frightened them sometimes, and it hurt like nothing else did, not even that green rock. 

Clark was huddled in the corner of the barn; knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them. He looked down at the mess at his feet, at his shredded shirt sleeves and his perfect, unmarred, smooth arms. He had no idea anymore how long he’d been folded over himself in the corner, but it was dark now, and he was a little hungry….

Out in the yard, Bruce was yelling for him, and he sounded annoyed but Clark just pushed himself farther into the corner, dropped his head to his knees and shook. He didn’t want to be found, didn’t want to talk to anyone. If he did, he’d have to explain what was wrong, and he didn’t know how to do that. Tears leaked out of his eyes and ran over his arms, leaving clear tracks in the dust that grimed him from head to toe. He bit his lip in an effort not to make a sound.

The doors creaked and opened, a streak of light speared into the gloom. Bruce called into the barn, “Clark, are you in here?”

Clark fought with himself. He wanted to answer, he was supposed to answer Bruce, but Bruce wouldn’t understand….

“Clark!” Bruce sounded worried now, Clark could picture his face creased in concern, blue eyes getting dark, that bloodhound look he got when he was worried—if he found him, Bruce was going to be mad at him for making him worry. The injustice of being so miserable and hurting and then being scolded by Bruce on top of it made him sob out loud. 

“Clark?”

Bruce peered around the barn and Clark considered speeding away but Bruce found him. 

“There you are! I’ve been running all over the place looking for you, darn it. I know you heard me—Clark!”

Clark was sobbing loudly now, he didn’t care anymore. Bruce found him and he was in trouble and it didn’t matter, nothing mattered. He didn’t belong here with them anyway….

“Sweet, what’s wrong?” Bruce crouched down, and rubbed Clark’s head roughly. “Are you crying?” 

Clark sobbed, choked a bit and blushed bright red. He smacked Bruce’s hand away and growled, “Don’t—and don’t call me stupid names.”

Bruce knelt in the wisps of hay in front of Clark and pushed his arms away from his face. “What—ow!”

He looked down at his knees in pained shock and Clark gasped. “Bruce, no!”

Bruce fell back on his rear, and grabbed his leg in his hands. A sliver of metal poked up from his knee. It had had gone straight in and blood welled up around it and ran down his leg. “Shit! That hurts—“ Bruce paled and sweat popped up “Man—that hurt like a son of a bitch!” The pain was so intense Bruce cursed loudly, something he didn’t normally do around his younger brother. 

“Clark, how in the hell did you break a saw into bits, what in the world—?" He pulled the slim shard of metal out, grimacing as blood ran down his leg and filled his shoe. Clark paled in horror, his mouth hung open and he let out a little groan.

“Bruce, Bruce…I hurt you.” Clark broke into tears again. “What am I Bruce? Nothing hurts me! Nothing—I swallowed bleach and it just made me throw up and Mom told me it was poisonous and it didn’t do anything, it just came back up, and the saw broke! On my _arm!_ and nothing cut me or scratched me—or—or anything!” Clark was shaking and tears ran down his face, Bruce would never understand, never. “I’m not like Lex—not at all. It’s not like—not getting a knee scrape or, or a bee sting. Am I a real person?” 

He was hysterical, and he couldn’t stop crying, he was getting louder and Bruce was starting to look scared. Sure he was, he was realizing his brother was some kind of monster thing…Clark fell on the ground, covered his face and howled. Bruce leapt to his feet and ran away and Clark felt his leaving like a knife in the heart.

BWLLCK

Bruce ran into the kitchen, yelling for Ma and Pop. “Something’s wrong with Clark, hurry!” They didn’t even hesitate; they sprinted after Bruce without question, dashed into the barn after him. Clark was huddled on the floor, too tired to cry now, dragging his finger in circles in the dust.

Martha dropped to the floor and grabbed Clark, pulled him to her. “What is it, Clark?”  
Jon knelt next to them. “What’s wrong son? Can you tell us—”

“Don’t! I’m not your son,” he cried. “I’m some—thing!”

“You’re not a thing, you’re a boy!” Martha cried, “You’re our baby, our boy!”

“No, I’m not, boys can’t do this!” He grabbed a screwdriver from the pile and drove it into his thigh before Martha could stop him; Jonathan yelled “Clark!” and froze as the screwdriver bent in half.

“See? That’s not normal.” Clark sobbed quietly and Martha stared at Jonathan, ‘Tell him.’ She mouthed and he sighed. “You have to tell him, Jon," she said, "For his sake."

Jonathan sat on the floor next to Clark, and laid his hand over his head. “Son. Clark, we have to show you something important."

Tears slipped down Martha’s face as she hugged Clark hard. She stood and coaxed him to his feet. “Come on sweetheart. We have a lot to talk about.”

Bruce stood to the side, confused, scared. Was there something wrong with Clark? Was Clark sick…or something worse?

Jon looked at Bruce. “Come with us, kiddo. You should know this too.”

BWLLCK

They were in the storm cellar, standing in front of a tarp-covered lump. “The day we found you, the day the meteors fell on Smallville, we found this too.” He jerked the tarp away and revealed a metal thing, arrow head shaped, a bulge in the center of it, shining like it was new…”It was open when we found it, it was just big enough for you then.”

Clark was staring at it, mesmerized, as Jon described the events of that day. Bruce watched him and felt a little dizzy. Not changed by the meteorites like he and Lex had figured. Clark was—something else all together.

Clark nodded, strangely calm. “That’s a space ship for me? The meteorites came with me—do you think I have a mother and father who came down somewhere too?”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t think so Clark. The ship is so tiny and we never saw any evidence of another ship.”

Martha said, “We think something bad happened on your world and your mother and father tried to protect you the only way they could. They sent you to our world, hoping that someone would find you, someone that would love you as much as they did—as much as we do.” Clark clung to her, and she hugged him back fiercely. “We love you so much Clark, all of us.”

Clark looked over at Bruce and he nodded emphatically. “We belong together, Clark.” He really believed that, tried to make Clark feel it, and Clark sobbed again.

“But I’ll never be like you!”

Jon hugged Clark too, so he was sandwiched between his parents, Bruce came over and hugged them, too.

“It’s all right, son, it really will be all right,” Jon said. “You might not be exactly like us, but you’ll always be ours, forever and ever no matter what happens.”

“Pop, things are happening to me—things that scare me. I thought I was turning into a monster.”

“Oh, baby!” Martha held his hand and kissed his forehead. “Never!”

Jon nodded. “It’s okay. You’re changing, like all people change as they get older. You’ll notice lots of different things about yourself, just like your friends are noticing changes. With you there’ll just be …extras….”

Bruce looked at Jon incredulously. He had to be kidding. Was this some weird version of ‘The Talk’? Was he just like exceptionally bad at it? This was almost as bad as the one he got—“Extras?” he struggled not to giggle. This was not the time to laugh, god—not now. And of course, the urge grew until he was driving nails into his palms.

Jon shrugged. “Hey, cut me some slack, I’m winging it,” he muttered, and Martha smiled at him. “You’re doing fine,” she whispered.

BWLLCK

Clark felt better. He wasn’t going crazy, things really were happening to him, he was different but Mom and Pop had always known how different he was and loved him anyway. He looked over at Bruce, and Bruce was grinning, his eyes ice blue and sparkling. If Bruce could smile like that, than it must be okay. His spirit lifted. He _was_ different. He’d have to figure out what that meant later, but for now, this was enough. He stared at the tiny space ship, and shivered. “Cover it, please.” 

Today it was enough to know that he wasn’t a monster. 

Just like Mom and Pop told him, time made things better. He came to understand, truly understand, that his parents loved him no matter what. Bruce loved him no matter what. He hadn’t told Lex yet. He hadn’t been told not to, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have Lex think of him as different from himself. They shared this one thing, and even if it wasn’t really true, Clark felt Lex needed it to be true as much as he wished it was. He was waiting for some moment that was right and counting on something to tell him when the moment was.


	6. Chapter 6

1  
A month or two had passed since Clark found out about his origins. He still spent long hours thinking about what it meant. He worried about what his imperviousness meant…what if it kept going, this effect? What if…Clark drew in a shuddering breath. What if his skin kept getting harder and harder until….

“Geez, Clark, I can feel you thinking from here. What’s up?” Bruce was in his doorway, shower damp and dressed for bed. “What’s got you all thinky?” he asked. 

Clark grimaced. “It’s stupid…”

“Oh, in that case...” Bruce said and turned away from the doorway as if he were about to leave.

“But it worries me,” Clark added quickly and looked at Bruce hopefully.

Bruce grinned and came in the room, sat on the edge of his bed. “So what’s on your mind?”

“I’m afraid, Bruce. If my skin is too strong to hurt...” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“What if I end up not feeling anything? What if I’m already not feeling things?”

Bruce leaned over and grabbed Clark, hugged him. “You feel that?”

“Yeah,” he said and smiled a little.

Bruce yanked his pj top up and tickled his ribs unmercifully. “What are you, a pillbug?” he laughed as Clark wiggled and tried to roll into a ball. “So, you feel that?” he chuckled, after a few seconds.

Clark giggled and scooted away. “Yes! Yes!”

Bruce stood and leaned over his bed. He brushed the hair off Clark’s forehead, and kissed him very gently, barely a brush of lips against his brow. “Can you feel that?”

Clark sighed happily and said quietly, “Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to worry, okay? Relax, Clark. You’re just fine, understand?”

Clark nodded, warm from head to toe.

“Right then. Sleep tight, weird kid.” Bruce winked from the doorway. “Oh, Clark,” he said before walking out the door.

Clark was already sleepy, “Hmm, yes?” He tried not to drift off as he waited for Bruce to speak again.

“So, what does 'Klatu Barda Nictu' mean anyway?”

“Oh—you jerk!”

Bruce dodged the pillow that came flying at him, and heard Clark giggling all the way back to his room.

 

2  
“Pete, do strange things ever happen to you? Strange feelings, I mean?”

“Like right now?” Pete eyed Clark uneasily. “'Cause you’re looking at me pretty creepily.” 

Clark grinned at Pete. “Never mind, Pete. I was just curious if you ever had weird feelings about stuff some time. It’s goofy.”

Pete, still staring at Clark, answered slowly, almost reluctantly, “Sometimes I do…sometimes I feel like I’m not really—important--you know? I feel like my family doesn’t even know I’m there. Like I’m invisible and my brothers and sister are the really important ones. Is that what you mean?”

Clark was surprised—he’d always thought Pete had the perfect life. His brothers were cool and popular; his sister was so nice... "Yeah, kind of. Yeah.” 

Pete shrugged and looked through the pile of comics Bruce had left on the porch. Pete grabbed one and stretched out across the bottom step, and looked up at Clark who was lying across the top step and reading 'Spooky' much to the amusement of the others. “Girls comic”, Whit had snorted.

Whit chimed in from the far side of the porch. “Sometimes I can’t figure out what my folks want from me. Gee, Pete, I figured it must be great to have all those kids around and be able to hide from your folks sometimes. Mine watch me all the darn time, like I’m a rat and they’re the cats. I can’t do anything without them eyeballing me. Anyway, what’s up with the weird feeling talk Clark? Your folks giving you a hard time?” He turned to Pete and jerked his thumb toward Clark. “Now, here’s the guy who has the life—he’s rich and he’s only got to share it with one brother.”

Pete laughed as Clark blushed. “Come on guys,” he said. “You know Pop is…well…”

“Frugal?” Pete asked. “Is frugal is the word you’re looking for?”

“Pete! You’re trying to say Mr. Kent is cheap?” Whit said. “He just doesn’t believe in being a show-off, right, Clark?”

Clark nodded. “He wants Bruce and me to have a normal life.”

Pete shrugged. “I guess. Anyway, what are we doing the rest of the day, guys?”

Clark grinned a little. “I got a letter from Lex. Want me to read it to you?”

“Is it about the girls in the other school? ‘Cause, yeah, if it is.”

“Pete, those girls are way older than you.”

”Experience, guys—that’s the important thing. I like older women.”

Whit snorted. “Pete, you’re weird.”

“See,” Clark said. “You _are_ having weird feelings.”

They walked into the house and headed up to Clark’s room, and as Clark passed Whit in the hallway, he grinned at him and bumped him into the wall.

“What’s up, Whit?” Clark grinned back. 

Whit shook his head. “Speaking of girls, remind me to tell you about this talk Dad had with me the other night Now, _that_ was weird.”

Clark laughed. “Oh no, Whitney, no way it could have been stranger then the talk I had with mine.”

BWLLCK

1  
Bruce was bored. Bored with school, bored with his friends. He hung out with them less since Clark had almost drowned last summer. If he hadn’t been hanging out with them and acting like a jerk, Clark wouldn’t have had to go through that. He still felt guilty about it.

More and more, he tended to float through his days; disconnected and uninterested in anything until finally his parents noticed, and decided that Bruce needed something that would challenge him.

One afternoon, Jon joined Bruce in the private hangout they’d constructed for him in the barn’s loft. During the past summer they’d helped him clean it out and turn it into a place where he could spend some time in private, and also have his friends over without certain little brothers getting in the way. With some cast off furniture and an old rug, it was pretty comfortable, and books and chairs migrated to the loft—and somehow so did little brothers, Clark was just as likely to have his friends up in the loft as Bruce.

Bruce was patient though, and Clark was smart enough not to wear out his welcome. Bruce had further plans for the loft, and one of them involved talking Pop into running an electric line up there. He looked up at when he heard Jon’s footsteps, hoping he was coming to work on that project. Instead, Pop had an offer for him.

“Son, I could use your help at work, and I’m thinking you could use an after-school job.”

Bruce thought, well, cool, he’d get to work in his dad’s office and flirt with the office staff, and make coffee, maybe schlep the mail around, it sounded good. While his friends were struggling carrying groceries, mowing lawns and flinging papers in all kinds of weather, he’d be in a nice dry office, pretending to work. He grinned at Jon.  
“Sounds great, Pop!”

 _Sounds great!_ he mocked himself later. He should have known better. What a sucker he’d been.

 

He was standing on the porch trying to figure out if her should keep the tie on or take it off. But Pop decided that for him. He gave Bruce a pair of gloves and a smirk. 

“See you at the green house, son. Never mind the tie, wear rubber boots.” 

Bruce got railroaded into service in the greenhouses. He swept and washed glass and trimmed and lugged trimming to the compost piles and watered and misted and plucked and smashed a million tons of bugs—he scrubbed clean seedlings trays and secateurs and sharpened spades and learned that compost tea was not for people but great for plants, that they did nothing in the greenhouse that wasn’t noted and cataloged and watched like a hawk. He learned it felt good to be treated like one of the guys, and be respected for your work.

He came in at night dirty and tired and smelling, always managed to skin something, or drive a splinter into something, and then got up the next day and did it again. 

He loved it. It was the best thing ever and he was beginning to think it might be a pretty good thing to do with his life. He was coming to appreciate that Pop was driven to try and reveal the mysteries of the plants around them, looking for the key each one contained to unlock and create something new, something of benefit to people. Bruce wanted to help people too, maybe that was the reason he was here, alive—maybe he was meant to help.

BWLLCK

1  
That year, the Kents made no plans to stay at the Hotel. The boys wanted to go, but Martha didn’t feel that she could enjoy her visit; the memories there would be too painful to bear. The boys were disappointed but had been promised trips to the shore during the summer as a consolation. 

Clark asked Lex to come stay with them when school let out, and Bruce thought maybe it might be nice to spend time with Lex again. Maybe. Lex didn’t seem to be much interested in his old friends these days. Except of course for Clark. Lex would never forget Clark. And Bruce was entirely too mature to be jealous of that.

 

2  
Right before the official beginning of summer, his parents had a garden party, in part to celebrate the launch of a line of seeds they had great hopes for, a hardy long blooming sweet pea that Martha was particularly proud of. The lawn was dotted with furniture, and strings and strings of electric lanterns lit the night. Music performed by a live band played softly in the background; waiters wove their way through the crowds of business acquaintances and locals, carrying trays of glasses filled with mysterious liquids. Some held trays of interesting looking little sandwiches and things that Ma called canapés. Bruce enjoyed it, he’d always been locked in the nursery with the nanny on the rare occasion his parents had parties back…before.

Some of Gotham’s elite were there, and of particular interest to Bruce, their new neighbors. They’d bought the house across the way, hadn’t actually taken up residence there yet, but they were invited to the function to get acquainted. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Cole and their daughter Serena.

Serena was beautiful, older, and Bruce thought, just a little frightening—a lot actually.

She was completely fascinating. 

Bruce watched her make her way around the grounds, trailing a little wake of guys who were also fascinated by her. She was gracious and friendly, stopping to chat with the older people like the socialite in training that she was

When she caught sight of Bruce, however, she bore down on him with a determined look. Bruce felt a little bubble of panic well up and lodge in his throat, looked over to see if any of the guys might rescue him, but they just stood back in a little huddle, looking jealous, and a maybe a little relieved as Serena sailed towards on Bruce.

Suddenly she was in front of him and Bruce was struck by how truly beautiful she was. It surprised him. He expected her to look tougher close up, but she had a delicate look, so at odds with her self-possessed behavior around the boys. She looked him up and down and held out her hand like she was a grown up. “Hello. I’m Serena. Your neighbor?” 

She smiled, her teeth were small and even and very white, framed by delicate bow lips, her chin was round and soft and he thought it would fit in his hand perfectly. She looked elfin; a cloud of strawberry blonde hair framed her blue eyes. Bruce smiled back. She was amazing.

“I’m Bruce. “ He felt proud he didn’t stutter and looked over the top of her head to the guys standing still. One of the guys winked and Bruce blushed.

"I know who you are,” she said, a shade of exasperation in her voice. “Walk with me.” 

She started off and Bruce watched her walk. He threw a quick look over his shoulder and saw that the guys that had been following her were looking at him with something rather like hate. The tall boy who’d winked looked surprised and envious. He grinned back at them.

“Bruce!” Serena called out impatiently and he ran to catch up with her. 

 

3  
“So, your people are more than just farmers, aren’t they,” she asked as they strolled past the green houses and along a lane lined with fruit trees.

“Well, yeah, Pop’s a researcher, he’s pretty famous actually,” he said with some pride. 

“Oh,” she said, completely uninterested, and pointed at a storage shed at the end of the lane. “What’s behind there?”

“Nothing interesting,” he said, a little puzzled

“Good, come on.” 

She pulled him by his hand until they were in the dark behind the shed and she smiled. She reached down the front of her dress and Bruce felt his eyes fly wide, but she just pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “God, I’ve been dying for a smoke all night. They watch me like a hawk. They won’t say anything about me going off with you though—everyone knows you’re harmless.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked being thought of as harmless.

She winked at him, lit up and inhaled deeply, blew a thick stream of smoke through her nose and mouth. “God.” she groaned, “that’s so damn good.”

Bruce blushed a little. Could it be _that_ good? He concentrated on her, her clear blue eyes and pretty skin, watched her lips purse around the cigarette, the way the tip of her tongue licked at the center of her top lip and swept her bottom lip before she let the cigarette rest between them. It made his spine tickle. It was weird. She noticed him staring at her mouth and smiled. “Do you bring girls out here a lot, Bruce?” 

He shook his head no. “Never.”

“What, never, ever?”

He shook his head again, and felt like an idiot. 

“Bruce, you’ve never kissed a girl?”

Now he was on solid ground. “Of course I have,” he scoffed. “Lots of girls.”

She smiled, a long lazy grin that made his heart speed up a bit, and her smile turned up higher on one side then the other and he wanted to kiss that side.

“Sweetheart, I’m not talking about baby pecks stolen in the coatroom. I mean…a kiss.”

He blushed hard and felt even more idiotic if possible. Okay, third grade kisses probably didn’t rate but it was all he had.

She dropped the butt and ground it into the dirt. “Come here,” she gestured and he stepped forward. His breath was coming a bit faster and his stomach tightened. 

“Don’t look like you’re going to die, come closer.” He stepped up until he felt her warm breath against his neck. “Tilt your head towards me; I’m going to teach you the right way to kiss a girl.”

Kiss a girl. All he could hear was her saying kiss a girl. And then, warm soft lips covered his, pressed against his lips softly, slowly, and he suddenly got so warm—she pressed more and the pressure opened his mouth a little and her tongue skated across his bottom lip and it made him gasp and open his mouth more. She moved her lips against his, and the tip of her tongue slid soft and warm against his…he felt his groin tighten, and his heart was thumping, thumping…she pulled back and he grunted a little in disappointment. 

“Let’s sit, okay, you’re too tall,” she made a little face and pushed him gently down and he sat on the cool, slightly damp ground. 

She tsked. “I can’t sit on the ground, I’ll stain my skirt. I’ll sit on you.” She said, and dropped into his lap. 

His brain sent up a flare, _there’s heat on your lap, there’s movement on your lap,_ and the inevitable happened, Bruce got hard. He groaned in embarrassment and tried to shift her away but she grinned and positioned herself so that she was pressed against his erection. “I’m flattered,” she purred.

He thought it was entirely possible he might die. He had to move her—“I’m—I—oh!”

She rocked back and forth on him. “Maybe not so harmless after all, hmm?” she purred and twisted her arms behind his neck and kissed him, her tongue slipping further into his mouth, and after a bit he began to chase it, copy what she did, lick and suck at her tongue, licked into her mouth. She took his hands and cupped them against her breasts, pressed his hands until he squeezed—kept squeezing because he had not the slightest idea what he was supposed to be doing but it made her moan into his mouth and he figured that was good. 

The kiss went on and on, his ears were burning, his face, his chest, his…his dick, so hard….  
She reached down and grabbed him—his heart thumped, and he could swear it stopped beating all together for a second —“Oh god!” He gasped and rose up, nearly bumping her off his lap.   
She yelped,”Hey, watch it!” She stood and he groaned. His dick was hoping that there’d be more of this…part of his mind was relieved. 

But she sat again, facing him this time, her legs locked around his back, her skirt pushed up above her thighs, he could see her panties and he knew this was important, panties seeing was number one, panties touching…he slowly reached out until he touched her, slid a finger over the silky surface and she moaned, “yes, like that,”—he pressed a little harder—“Go on!”

He was pressing and rubbing against her, and she was squirming and his finger slipped against the warm flesh of the crease of her thigh, and slid under the band of her panties and she stiffened and sighed. His finger was in heat, soft wet heat, she was rocking a bit more now, and he knew it felt good to her. He wanted to make her feel good. He slid his finger back and forth between the soft lips, excited but clueless, and hoping for guidance. 

She moaned louder and told him where to touch, there was a little nub that slipped under his fingers, he chased it and she groaned louder, “harder, just a little”…his hand was wet, and his fingers slid back and deeper into her. She yelped and he pulled back.

“Don’t be an idiot, get back there,” and she shoved his hand back. He plunged his fingers in and out of her, slid his thumb over that little slippery nub and tried to set his rhythm by her response–she threw her head back and arched with a long moan. 

Suddenly, she was gasping, biting his collar and he felt his fingers being squeezed inside of her…it was amazing, it was strange, it was arousing. She pulled her shirt over her head, and her breasts were exposed. He felt his dick growing harder; he’d lost it a little when she yelped, but the sight of her chest gleaming in the moonlight made him rock hard again. Her nipples were small, stiff, and puckered. She leaned closer and told him, “Lick.” He put out his tongue and tentatively licked, she shuddered and he licked harder, closed his eyes and felt the hard nub against his tongue, stroked it, sucked it. It made him want—a lot.

She pressed harder against him, rocking, slick, wet and hot on his hand, guiding his fingers and every move made that tightening, ready to let go feeling in him grow more and more. He sucked harder and she groaned and ground down against him. He opened his eyes, and let her nipple fall from his mouth, and it gleamed…a perfect small circle of copper, a spattering of copper colored freckles ran between her breasts…his eyes were captured by them—

She thrust against him, froze, “Oh fuck yeah, that’s it,” she exhaled a long shuddery moan.

A feeling swept over him, consumed him—it hit him like a tidal wave and he couldn’t hold it back. It swept over him, warm and shaking him from head to toe. He fell back, pulling her with him, stretching her out on his body. He groaned and groaned, teeth clenched and his body shivering and he held on to her as if he were afraid of flying away.

 

4  
He was sitting up, watching her smooth her clothes out and fix her hair. She lit another cigarette and sighed out a cloud of smoke. He was wet front and back, grass stains on his elbows and for sure his ass, his pants were stuck to him and he thought so that’s what it’s like to have—that—with someone else. He grinned ruefully. Maybe next time, there’d be less clothes involved. Still, it was an amazing improvement over jerking off, even if it hadn’t been as nice as he’d imagined it might be. The clothes thing—definitely an impediment.

He watched Serena and instinct told him that it probably had a lot to do with who you did it with, too.

She looked at down at him. “You’re staring at me. You’re wondering what’s going to happen now.”

Bruce actually hadn’t got the brainpower back to think anything that complicated—he shrugged. 

“Well, let’s make it clear, we’re not going steady or anything, I was just feeling—you know,” she shrugged–“And you’re very good looking. Not that you weren’t good. Tell you what; next time I’m home from school, I’ll look you up again, all right? How do I look? Any stains?” 

“No, you look fine.”

“Good. _You_ look like you’ve been dry-humping in a cornfield,” she said, the cigarette shifting into the corner of her mouth. She pulled her hair back from her ears and smoke coiled above her head. 

He sucked in his belly and slid a hand into his underwear, wincing at the sticky mess. “Not so dry,” he muttered and she laughed. 

He walked her back to the edge of the party area and left her, running to cut around to the back of the house. He ran upstairs and stripped quickly, hopped into the shower. 

Water ran down his head, warming his cold back. He thought about it. He’d had sex, pretty much. Sort of. It was sex, right? He’d come—with a girl. He made her come. He was pretty sure he’d made her come anyway. 

What would Lex say about it? He wished he was here so he could talk about it, how it felt....

He looked down at his dick and touched it, carefully. He soaped up his hand and stroked it over his dick, under his balls, around the dusting of black hair around his dick. He had semen everywhere. It was sticky and clung to his hair and as he washed carefully his dick began to fill again. He held it in his hand and felt it jerk to fullness. Amazing. Her nipples…the freckles….

He blushed hard, so hard even in the shower he felt as if he were sweating. His dick slapped his belly. Every familiar touch seemed a little different, more intense somehow. He pushed in and out of the tight circle of his fist, eyes tightly closed as he pictured freckles scattered over her shoulders, perfect skin gleaming pink in the sun, salty with ocean spray, warm rock under him—  
and shuddered to an orgasm.

BWLLCK

1  
Martha was at the window in the kitchen looking out on the back yard; Jonathan was sitting at the table with him, enthusiastically discussing their new project, and beaming at him. 

Bruce had redesigned the greenhouses’ irrigation system in a way that saved water but made sure that the plants got the maximum benefit, and the design change was going to be very inexpensive, that alone was enough to make Jonathan smile.   
“Bruce, it’s genius, you have a talent for adapting old ideas to new uses. This is going to be quite a money saver. He grinned at Bruce and Bruce blushed a little. It felt good to have Jon’s approval, more than that, to have his enthusiastic acceptance for what he did and what he thought.

Martha smiled at Jon’s enthusiasm, but Bruce could tell her attention was divided between the kitchen and the back yard.

“Clark all right?” Bruce asked, and stood. Jonathan looked up from the papers spread in front of him and looked inquiringly at Martha, she made the smallest negative motion and directed her answer to Bruce.

“Looks like they might be getting in a little brawl out there. Could you check it out, honey? “

Bruce said, “Of course,” and headed out to the yard. Bruce had been so busy with work and school lately, not to mention dealing with whatever this confusing thing was he had going on with that Cole girl, that he hadn’t even seen Clark except to say goodnight in passing. Time for him to check in and do that big brother thing.

The boys were standing on the driveway, arguing about something, and Clark looked distressed that Pete and Whit were yelling at each other. He made jerky little movements back and forth between the two, and looked desperately at Bruce when he came up, eyes begging for help.

“What the heck is going on,” Bruce barked. He stood behind the, his hands on his hips, glowering at the red-faced boys.

Whit jumped and Pete glared at him, and as always was the first one to speak. “Whitney is an idiot who won’t pay attention. I’m tryin’ to tell him—”

Whit cut in, growled,”Pete’s a dope. I’ m trying to tell _him_ it’s better to stay home and play basketball, but he wants to go swimming and get bit up by mosquitoes and stuff, and besides we went swimming this morning and Clark won’t decide. He should, he invited us over.” Whit frowned at Clark who blushed and stammered and did nothing to stop the escalating war and Pete and Whit started in again, voices getting louder and louder….

Bruce stared—what? Were they serious…”Shut up!” he yelled. They froze. “God, what a bunch of assholes.”

They gasped as one. Bruce snuck a look at the house and continued. “Here’s what’s going to happen, we’re going to the library, I need to look up some stuff, and you’re going with.”

They groaned, appalled that going to the library was Bruce’s idea of a good time, except for Clark, who looked very pleased. “And if you don’t piss me off, we can stop at Mario’s and get cheesesteaks—you don’t piss me off.” _and if dad lends me some money…_

In a bit, the boys were walking into town, yakking light-heartedly as if the fight never happened

Bruce dropped back behind Pete and Whit, and gestured for Clark to drop back with him. “Tell me what happened, Clark," he said softly.

“They started fighting, and I got mad—Bruce, I was so mad, I felt like—like my blood was getting hot or something—and then, I got scared, because I was so mad and I couldn’t’ t do anything. I was afraid to speak, I was afraid,” his voice dropped even more, “I was afraid I’d hurt them.” 

He looked at Bruce, terror and shame making his green eyes bright.

Bruce shook his head. “Clark, you’re doing it again. It’s a normal thing to get angry, there are going to be times when you’re so mad, you see red, you’ll want to kill—but you won’t. You’re the most moral, most thoughtful person I’ve ever known. You know what’s right, better than most folks because you care to do the right thing. Get mad Clark, it’s fine. You can yell and stomp your feet and have a cow just like anyone else. You’ll never hurt anyone by accident, ever.”

Clark nodded slowly. “Okay…” he looked up at Bruce, and Bruce was nearly embarrassed by the intensity of the love in his eyes. He hardly felt like he deserved it.

“You’re the best big brother ever,” Clark grinned.

Bruce smiled back and managed to stop himself from thinking, better than Lex?

 

2  
After the library, the boys walked across the street and into Mario’s. The interior was dark and cool compared to the outside. The air conditioner was cranked up, and the smell of oregano, garlic, and ancient wooden floors was a good, familiar one. They paused a minute and let their eyes adjust, and Pete headed over to one of the gleaming red booths Frank the owner (there had never been a Mario) had installed recently by the big front window, so new they could still smell the vinyl. Pete loved being by the window; he was certain that the girl of his dreams might walk by. He said he needed to be ready.

Bruce looked Pete up and down. “Sport, you’re eleven. What in the heck would you do with a girl?”

Pete looked shocked. “Bruce, don’t you know? Poor guy-–it’s like this, first you--”

Bruce held up his hands. “I don’t want to know what strange thing you think you’re supposed to do!”

The door opened and for a moment voices drowned out the chug of the air conditioner. Bruce looked up. It was a couple of guys and a few girls from school—and Serena. She waved and kept on going and Bruce tried to hide his blush, dipped his head to take a long drink of his soda.

“What’s up, who’s that?” Clark asked. Too sharp for his own good, Bruce thought.

“No one,” he muttered.

Pete looked at Bruce incredulously. “No one? That’s Serena Cole, that’s who that is. She’s bitchin’ ”

“Don’t say that.” Bruce snapped.

“Why not,” Pete went on, ignoring Bruce’s tone. “She is fine. Look at her. And you guys know it too.”

Clark and Whit glanced over and back at each other and grinned. Whit shrugged. “Too pale,” he said and “Her hair’s frizzy,” Clark said.

Bruce grunted, “What the heck do you guys know.” He scraped his chair back. "I gotta go,” he said, explaining to the boy’s total lack of interest,” I gotta pee.” 

Clark rolled his eyes and made a face.

Bruce huffed and walked towards the bathrooms, having to pass Serena at her table, surrounded by her court. She saw him, winked and waved and he grinned back. 

He was just washing his hands when the door opened. He turned to the door ready to smirk, expecting Serena because it wasn’t farfetched at all, but it was just one of the guys, Sean something…

“Hey.” Bruce tried to walk past him but Sean grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t talk to Serena anymore.”

“Are you nuts?” Bruce growled, “She talks to who she wants to, haven’t you noticed that yet?”

Sean shoved him hard against the wall. “Keep away, or I’ll kick your ass, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” Bruce glowered—no problem he could take this guy, he outweighed him; he was taller—“Fuck you!”

Sean shoved him again and Bruce had enough. He swung at the guy and waited for the thud of contact—suddenly he was on the ground, blinking at the ceiling. _what the hell…_

“Don’t try it, Kent—you’ll never beat me.” Sean was posed in some weird kind of stance—but he looked strangely in control.

Bruce dragged himself off the floor and Sean was crowding him against the wall. Bruce grabbed for him and Sean reached out, grabbed his wrist and shirt and again Bruce was groaning up at the ceiling…

He got to his feet and Sean was on him again, pressing Bruce flat in the corner by the sinks, pushing him back every time Bruce tried to move. His breath was warm on his chin, his eyes snapped and he was grinning like a maniac.

Bruce shifted and Sean shifted with him. “Give up, you just can’t win,” he said.

Bruce stared down into cocky eyes and asked, “How do you do that and can you teach me?”

Sean was startled—started laughing after a moment. He stepped back. ”Yeah. I can—or my teacher can anyway.” He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, still grinning. “It’s called judo.”

Bruce made a face. “You mean like that Green Hornet guy? I don’t believe it—that’s just TV junk.”

Sean grinned. “Oh yeah? You believe I can put you out on this floor and keep you there?”

Bruce nodded, “Yeah.” Sean could, he definitely could…

“Here’s my number, call me Monday. I’ll talk to my teacher tonight.”

Bruce took the shred of paper and carefully tucked it in his jean pocket. “What about…”

“Oh, her. This is more important.” He smirked at Bruce, stuck out his hand and pulled Bruce out of the corner. “You’ll see. This will change your life.”

Bruce walked back to his table; Sean went back to his and Serena looked over with a lifted eyebrow and a little smile. Bruce just smiled back, and she laughed.

Clark watched this, and frowned. “What happened in the bathroom, Bruce?”

“What? Nothing happened in the bathroom,” he said and Clark looked skeptical. 

“I thought…I could have sworn I heard you yell…never mind.” 

Whit looked at Clark in surprise. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

Clark looked at Bruce and blushed a little. “I must have been imagining it, that’s all.”

BWLLCK

1  
“Judo? Like that Green Hornet guy? What for, Bruce?”

“Pop, it’s good for fitness, and for health, and it’s good for your self confidence and…stuff…”

Jonathan looked at Bruce with a smile. “And the girls think it’s cool, too?”

“Po—op!” Bruce groaned. “No! I mean, I don’t think so…” he thought about Sean, and how cocky and kind of cool he’d seemed, girls probably fell all over him. Bruce grinned. “Maybe a little,” he confessed.

Jonathan laughed. “All right. But I’ll still need you here at work. Can you do this judo thing and still keep your grades up at school, and put in your hours here?” Jonathan leaned his elbows on the desk and gave Bruce the ‘serious dad’ look. Bruce nodded. 

“I know I can, Pop. You don’t have to worry about that. And I’m going to pay for the classes out of my own money.”

 

"All right.” Jon stood with Bruce, and they headed out to the plant floor. “You bring me the papers and I’ll sign them.” He shook his head. “Judo. Are you going to start wearing a mask and driving around town looking for bad guys?”

Bruce groaned and shook his head. “Corny, Pop, very corny!”

His pop raised an eyebrow. “Hey, hey, now! No belittling the corn—it pays the bills you know.”

 

2  
The classes were an introduction to a new world for Bruce. He threw himself into them wholeheartedly. He enjoyed them as much as he enjoyed working in the greenhouses. Here the mystery he was beginning to unravel was himself. Learning about his limits, his strengths, becoming more aware of himself.

Mr. Mackenzie, their instructor was the most unique individual that Bruce had ever met. Mac, as Sean called him, was a former sergeant in the army, retired after a tour of duty in a country Bruce was just beginning to hear a lot of in the news, and a newcomer to the area. 

Mac was broad, tall and black, with a deep voice and a reserved manner. Everything about him seemed low-key, unemotional, but he inspired a deep loyalty in his students—the class hung on his every word, and the slightest sign of approval from him would light up a students face. Bruce thought of Mr. Mackenzie as…there. Completely totally there—aware of everything, all the time, all around him. Bruce couldn’t really explain what he meant; he just felt it from him. Bruce thought Mac was like a deep still lake, ripples rising infrequently to the surface. He felt that Mac knew him better than anyone ever had, that he had a sense about people that went deeper than the ordinary person’s. 

 

He worked out almost daily, learning the holds, and the throws, he learned to listen to himself, and became more comfortable in his body, helped by Mac’s teaching and his example of dedication. 

One afternoon, he stayed after class, putting the mats away as usual, helping Mac and Sean clean up. He was pushing a mop around when Sean came to tell him he was leaving, asked if he’d mind if he came over that evening, and Bruce agreed. Sean was fun to hang around with, and it was flattering that the older boy treated him like an equal.

He was just putting away the bucket and the mop when Mr. Mac asked him to come to his office. He was instantly on alert. Had he done something wrong in class?

Mac shut his office door and went to a small table in the corner of his office. He turned on a hotplate sitting on the tabletop and filled a pan with water, set it on to boil. “Sit down,” he said. “Would you like some tea?”

Bruce nodded and relaxed in the chair. If he was getting tea, than he probably wasn’t in trouble.   
Mr. Mac looked him over intensely, his lips quirking in the brief flicker that passed for his smile.

“You’re not in trouble.” His eyes crinkled at Bruce’s astonishment. “And I’m not a mind-reader; it’s obvious what was on your mind. You tensed when I asked you into my office, you relaxed when I offered you tea…it’s a simple matter of paying attention, not a lot of people do.”

Bruce nodded and watched Mac set out cups and measure tea into a waiting pot, wondering what he wanted to speak to him about. 

“I’m very pleased with your progress. You’re one of the most talented students I have. You’re the kind of student every teacher hopes for, hard working, eager to learn, and not afraid to ask for help. It’s a privilege to teach you. 

Bruce blushed and tried to thank him but Mac shook his head. He passed Bruce a cup of tea, and sat before continuing. “No, that is not a compliment; it’s a statement of fact, and also a warning. I plan to be harder on you than the others. I’ll make you hurt, and wish you never met me. You will excel.”

Bruce swallowed and slowly nodded. He wanted that, he wanted to be better than…he wanted to be excellent. 

“You’re an exceptional young man. You have enormous potential in you.” He turned his attention to his tea for a moment sipping unhurriedly before looking at Bruce again. “Most people in this world are no more than here. Eating, breathing, dying. Some people…some are much more than that. For good or ill, some people have a greater purpose. I feel it’s true of you. You have work to do, young man.”

Bruce looked at him puzzled. “Mr. Mackenzie, I work hard at everything I do.”

Mac shook his head, and said, “Let me tell you a short version of a long story. A few years ago, I was in a position that I thought was impossible to survive. I remember sitting in the dark, scared to death and waiting to die....”

Bruce watched Mac; his eyes were looking out on some distant place.

“I thought I was going to die, hell, I _knew_ I was going to die. And this feeling of—peace, acceptance, came over me. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid, I was content in the moment. Ready to go.” He looked at Bruce and his eyes crinkled, his lips quirked. “Of course, at that point I hadn’t actually looked Death in the face; it was still somewhat of an abstract concept. I was a virgin, I was armed with a crapload of theory and no practicals-- In the next few moments when bullets were tearing over our heads and we were sucking dirt—I thought the hell with being ready. It was as if something took me by the gonads and said, ‘not fucking yet Mac, you’ve got something important to do.’” Mac coughed, came back to himself and Bruce swore he blushed under the dark hue of his skin. “Sorry about that, young man. Soldiers talk rough some time.”

Bruce stared down into his cup, trying desperately to cover his smile.

Mac went on. “When I came back to the world, I kicked around for a while, then this found me, and I knew it was what I was meant to do. And now, I know why.” He stood and reached out for Bruce’s cup. “I know you have something to do too Bruce, something to make right.”

 

3  
Bruce waited outside for Pop to pick him up and thought about what Mac had said, found himself thinking about Mom and Dad. Mac reminded him of his dad, made him miss his dad. He used to think he survived that night for a reason, but as time went by, he figured it was just a toss of the dice, stupid luck. As for having some grand purpose in this life, Bruce doubted that. He shook his head. If he had a purpose, it was to protect Clark, who still believed what Bruce had told him—that Clark was the one who had a mission in life. 

All he knew about himself was that he wanted to be a botanist…if what Mac was suggesting, that he’d survived a firefight to come to Smallville and teach Bruce judo, so that he could be…what, a butt-kicking scientist? He giggled. Like what--Doc Strange? 

He was still grinning when a car pulled up to the curb and Sean leaned over and shouted. “Bruce, get in!”

Bruce was surprised but he slid into the car. “Where’s Pop?”

“I told him I’d pick you up, save him the drive.”

Bruce grinned. “I know Pop liked saving the gas. So how did you get the car from your folks?”

Sean grinned wickedly. "Dad got tired of listening to me whine. So—back to your place or do you maybe want to do something?”

Bruce frowned, thinking about a paper he had to get started on, and he was supposed to take Clark to the library, but… “You know, yeah, lets do something—the movies?”

“Cool!” Sean beamed at him and Bruce wanted to ask about Serena, when she’d be home again. Bruce coughed a little and instead he said, “Hey, Mac was talking to me after you left. He seems to think I’m doing pretty good.” He blushed a little and went on. “Actually, he said real good.”

Sean looked at him. “Yeah? Hey, don’t be modest, you are doing great. You got something special, Bruce.”

Bruce felt pleased and grinned. “Oh. You think…I’m that good?”

Sean laughed. “I’m still better than you, but—yeah. That good.”

 

They drove on to the theater, stopping at a gas station on the way so Bruce could call home, and stuff their pockets with cheap candy. They got to the theater a little early, laughed and joked as they waited on line. Sean flirted with every girl waiting on line with them, even got Bruce to flirt a little, before they went on inside the movies. Bruce expected Sean to sit them with one of the girls he’d been flirting shamelessly with, but he sat them far in the back, away from everyone. The movie was half full, and they had the back rows to themselves.

“I like to talk to the screen,” Sean explained and Bruce grinned.

The movie was about some boy’s school in England, it was weird and kind of unsettling. Bruce really couldn’t focus on it all that well, because Sean was doing…things. Or he wasn’t doing things but it felt like he could. His knee brushed up against Bruce’s, his elbow nudged him, it was just an elbow in the ribs but it felt…on the screen there was a close-up of a boy’s face, his eyes were closed and nothing was happening but it made an electric jolt go through Bruce, and he gasped a little at the intensity of it. 

Sean looked and Bruce said, “Excuse me,” and held up his coke. 

Sean smiled and went back to the screen, and his foot hit Bruce’s, stayed there. Bruce could barely hear the dialogue, some weird trick of the acoustics made it so all he could hear was Sean breathing; he couldn’t seem to block it out. Sean dropped his hand to his thigh and his knuckles just happened to graze Bruce’s thigh when he did and to Bruce's horror, he started to get a little hard. He felt a tingling rise and wanted to pull back but since he didn’t know how to do it without being obvious, so he sat there with Sean’s knuckles burning his leg….

He was deeply grateful when the movie ended and if he’d had to take a test on the damn thing, he’d fail miserably. 

Sean drove him back to the farm in complete silence; he seemed to be deep in thought about something and his own thoughts chased around in his head, slippery as grape seeds. 

Finally they were home, and Bruce invited him up to the barn out of knee-jerk politeness. Sean took him up on his invitation and threw him completely off balance.

Now what?


	7. Chapter 7

They were sitting in the loft and listening to the radio and looking at vacation pictures, probably the lamest thing he could do. All he needed now was to have Ma come up with cookies and milk. At least Clark was asleep and wouldn’t come pounding up the stairs, all eager to show them a bug or something. 

He realized Sean was waving a picture at him—a picture of Lex. "Who’s this?"

"My cousin…well not really, not cousin, but we’ve known each other since we were little kids."

"Yeah?" Sean looked at the picture with a frown. "What happened to his hair? He have cancer or something?"

"No," Bruce said and took the picture from his hand and laid it on top of another of a curly-haired Lex. He stared at them, and for a moment his heart ached. All these pictures of Lex and in most of them, he looked so sad…why hadn’t he seen how sad he’d been then?

Sean flicked busily through the pictures. "You know, not having hair didn’t make him any less good looking." He looked up at Bruce. "I mean, you know—he’s not ugly."

"No, he’s not," Bruce murmured. He was noticing the way Clark was looking at Lex in some of the pictures, Clark and Lex and him in the middle and his heart flipped over hard…stupid. It didn’t mean anything. They were just pictures and Clark just had a huge case of hero-worship.

Sean asked him if he wanted to spar a bit before he had to leave, and Bruce was up for it. They moved the couch back and Bruce rolled out the mats that Pop had bought for him.

They sat and took off their shoes, and Sean worked through a new move with him a few times and then they began working out in earnest. Workouts brought out Bruce’s competitive streak, and he and Sean struggled back and forth across the mat. 

Bruce’s world narrowed to the two of them—the sound of their breath huffing in and out, the smell of sweat, the squeak of their feet across the vinyl and Sean’s grunts of effort. Sean threw him once, twice, each time laughing in delight as Bruce slammed into the mat, and then sprang up, ready to go again. 

They worked on grapple moves; Sean was a good teacher, almost as good as Mr. Mack, if not as patient.

"Bruce you’re not tryin—urk!" Bruce twisted Sean and locked his arm behind him, pulled the other into its fullest extension between his legs and across his chest and locked his feet over Sean’s shoulder. Sean jerked and slid on the mat, trying to find a point of release, his arm ended up pressed against Bruce’s dick and Bruce panicked, he was getting stiff. His first instinct was to let go but screw that, he had Sean, no way could he break free

Sean laughed breathily, and tapped against the mat. Bruce let him go instantly, jumped to his feet and away from Sean. He was embarrassed, trying to cover the fact that he was hard.

Sean moved almost as fast as Clark and had his hands wrapped around Bruce's biceps, keeping him in place. "Come on Bruce, don’t be embarrassed. It happens, man. All that rubbing." Sean leaned against Bruce and quick as a cat slid his hands down to press around his hips, pulled Bruce into him, into an answering hardness. "Feel that?" 

Bruce gasped, instinct made him buck forward. 

Sean took the move as consent, and ground against him, rubbing their erections together. Bruce was shocked first at how good it felt, and then at how much he liked it—he jerked back, hitting a beam behind him, hitting it so hard stars danced in his eyes. Sean dropped his hands from Bruce like he was on fire, his eyes already icing over as he stepped away from Bruce. 

"Sorry. My mistake." Sean straightened and was about to say something else but Bruce reached out and grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled Sean to his mouth. The awkward smash of mouth and nose swiftly changed into a toe curling kiss as Sean took control again, and Bruce relaxed and let him do so. He shivered each time their bodies shifted into the kiss, their arms wrapped tight around each other, dicks slid against each other, and slowly it became less incidental to the kiss and more the whole point, as Bruce tried to get Sean to repeat the motion.

 

The kiss broke, Sean’s head was tucked into the crook of Bruce’s neck, forehead sliding slick on him, sweat was running between the two of them, Sean's mouth working against the tender skin of his throat. Sean was hunching hard against him now, his hands locked tight on his shoulders, breath coming in hot spurts….

Bruce's head was swimming with the need to feel this, his heart was hammering with fear of it, his eyes darted again and again to the stairs, what if someone came up…he was afraid to open his mouth and let out the noise that was building in his throat, afraid of what might come out. Bruce lost his battle and moaned, and his hips took on a life of their own, jerked crazily against Sean. He grit his teeth and swore when Sean groaned "Bruce, let me touch you, let me get my hand in your pants." 

Bruce shoved his pants down to his knees. Sean did the same, and they stood, locked against each other, panting, hearts thundering, Bruce was frozen in place, he was holding a guy, nothing but a layer of cotton between him and being _naked_ with a guy, what if he could do this with—his dick swelled and jerked and he felt an answering move and broke—he threw his head back, pressed his palm hard against his mouth to hold in a shout as he came.

Sean gasped, "You—oh!—fuck—" His eyes squeezed tight, he gripped Bruce’s biceps, slid down his leg a little and groaned like he was in pain. Bruce could feel Sean's dick pulsing hot against his leg, and his own twitched painfully as he watched Sean come. 

It was amazing. It was hotter than anything Bruce had ever experienced.

He hoped like hell this didn’t screw things up with Sean.

After a few moments Sean opened his eyes again and grinned. "Wow, that was so hot, you made me come so fast." He stood, staggered back a bit and grimaced. "Do you have some tissues or something? I don’t want to drive home with my pants full of jizz."

Bruce winced. He tried to picture Lex saying that and shuddered. "Wait here, I’ll get something." 

He hiked his pants back up, ran down the stair and grabbed a few rags they used to wash up with at the utility sink and dashed back up the stairs. 

"Thanks," Sean grabbed a rag and wiped himself down. Feeling oddly shy now, Bruce sneaked looks at Sean’s still full dick and wondered what it would feel like in his hand. His fingers twitched and he closed them into a fist. "I’m not a faggot," he said quietly and Sean laughed. 

"Okay. You’re not a faggot. You’re just what, really friendly?" 

"Shut up," Bruce said, but without any real heat. He sat on the couch and watched Sean pull his pants back up. "I just thought you should know that," he said and saying it out loud made him feel like an idiot, he felt heat rise in his face. 

Sean looked regretful. "I guess this is your way of telling me there won’t be a repeat performance, hunh?"

Bruce said, "I don’t think so…I’m…no, I don’t think so."

Sean sighed, and nodded, "Okay." He came over to the couch and dropped down next to Bruce. "So, do you think we can handle this without a lot of junk? ‘Cause I really do want to be your friend, Bruce. I like you."

Bruce shrugged and thought of Serena. "We’re still friends, sure. I like hanging out with you."

Sean’s eyes ate him up and he said, "I’m really jealous of Serena, or whoever it is that has you wrapped up around their little finger."

Bruce looked back in surprise. "That’s not it, Sean, you know what it’s like with her…and there’s no one else…" 

His voice trailed off and Sean winked. "Of course not, buddy—gotcha." and Bruce’s eyes went to the trunk, with the dozens of summer pictures spread across it. "No one else," Sean said, smirking. He pulled his shoes back on and leaned over to Bruce and for a moment Bruce thought he was going to kiss him, but he slapped him on the stomach. "Hey, you should get cleaned up, man-- I’ll see you tomorrow, right?"

On his way down the stairs he stopped and said, "He really is good looking, you know," and kept going.

Bruce dropped flat against the floor, and stared at the rafters. Fuck. What was wrong with him? What the _heck_ was wrong with him? 

Sex with—a guy?

That was so wrong, so bad, and worst then that, he'd lied to Sean, he really wanted to do it again. No, the worst part was, he was thinking of _Lex._ The horrible part was, he was always thinking of Lex, even when he'd been with Serena—

Bruce shoved the thought violently aside, repressed it ruthlessly. He wasn’t going to think of it again and oh God, what the hell was he going to do about Clark, was there anything he should do? Should he talk to him—what could he say, ask Clark how exactly did he like Lex? _Hey kid, thinking of screwing our coz, are ya?_

Fuck.

Life was too complicated, Bruce thought. Lex had no idea how lucky he was to be away from all this.

BWLLCK

1  
Lex leaned against the wall of the gymnasium, wonderfully re-decorated to give the illusion of a dingy high school gym decorated with cheesy streamers and revolving disco-balls. He sneered and sipped at his plastic cup of red…whatever it was. He figured he had this wallflower thing down pat. He could almost feel the roots forming. He groaned and looked at his watch. A few more minutes and then he could leave; a half hour should be long enough to prove he was ‘socializing’. He looked out over the crowd of gyrating students, snorting in irritation when he caught himself tapping his foot in time to the horrible music. He was thinking, watching—one certain kid in particular. Every so often, the kid went out the back doors with a little group, would come back a few minutes later and then leave with another little group. Selling pot, Lex guessed. He watched and thought. 

Since dear old Dad had cut his allowance to almost nothing, life had gotten even more unpleasant. This place, this new school, was hell. _Everything_ here was about appearances. Lex had found out quickly that the names at Excelsior were much more impressive than the name Luthor. Lionel Luthor might be someone in the North-East, but these were people whose families were known world-wide. He suffered their contempt almost daily and he was beginning to understand some of his dad’s motivation for wanting more and better and bigger.

Dad…he might hate being looked down on, but he didn’t mind putting his son in that situation, did he now? Lex sighed a little. It was his own fault really—he just hadn’t known how to hide how happy he’d been at Hessian.

Excelsior was a different world. He suffered here, no money, no friends. Of course, Dad had reasons for yanking him out of his old school and dropping him in the land of assholes: Excelsior was a better, more respected school, he was getting less money because he needed to learn self-reliance, needed to grow up and stop expecting handouts, yakkity-fucking-yak....

Lex snorted to himself. Right. The man was out to get him, no doubt about it. Paranoia wasn’t a problem for a Luthor, it was a survival mechanism. He figured this was just the newest bead in a string of not so subtle ploys his dad used to punish him for living on when everyone else the man had really cared for had died. He snapped his teeth, irritated with himself for getting maudlin in public.

His eyes roamed the floor again and he caught sight of his personal group of tormenters, the Dicks. They were talking to some girl, and looking his way…the stocky blonde in particular. Bastard. Fucking Harry. Everywhere he went Harry and his little dick friends were there, trying to make his life miserable. Fuck him if he’d show it. They could do any damn thing they wanted—he’d never crack. It hurt on some level, that once he’d thought they were friends, but Harry was the first to turn everyone against him when his circumstances took a turn for the worse. 

Lex looked over at the far wall. The geeks stood there looking his way hopefully. God—that'd be all he needed to do to complete his fall in status. Fuck no. He looked back at the Dicks, and sighed. Looked at his watch. Fucking ten more minutes before he could leave. 

The girl wandered away from the group and headed his direction…she was headed towards him. Lex braced himself, ready for whatever. If she talked to the Dicks, there’d be no good coming from this. She took her time, sauntering over as if every eye in the place was on her. She wasn’t wrong. Her dress was tight, white and way above her knees, a zipper ran up from between her breasts and stopped at a mandarin collar. Lex figured most guys would want to grab the big hoop at the zipper’s end and pull…most guys. 

She stopped in front of him, hip cocked, hand out and a smirk on her lavender frosted lips. "Hello, I’m Victoria and you’re Lex. She pumped his hand once, hard and sharp, and dropped it. "That’s out of the way. Your friends over there," and he didn’t need to look to know they were being watched, "gave me five dollars apiece to embarrass you in some public way."

Lex gaped. "Twenty dollars?" He took in her designer dress, her handmade boots, her scent was at the very least a few hundred dollars an ounce—"You took twenty dollars from them—what in the hell for?"

"Because it’s fun," she said, and shrugged like it was no big deal. She stared at him. ‘You’re kind of pretty. They said you were a freak."

Lex jerked his chin up, hurt and anger warred in him, but he knew if he expressed it he was dead. _Freak?_ They were being kind tonight. He smiled at her through narrowed eyes

"Yes, I am." He deliberately drew his hand over his head. "Hairless." Her eyes lit with interest. He caught the look and continued. His voice was low and sinuous and he had no idea he could sound like that—"Completely. All…over." 

_What the fuck? Where did that come from?_ Lex wanted to slap himself. He knew he'd just talked himself into a corner—now what?

"Really…" the girl—Victoria—breathed out and her eyes glittered. "Give me fifty and I’ll make those guys feel like chumps."

Lex laughed, incredulous. "What?"

"Come on, give me fifty and I’ll make it more than worth your while."

Lex looked up and caught Harry staring. The boy’s face twisted into a sneer when he saw Lex looking. "All right, I will," he said. "Now what?"

"Come outside with me."

He looked at her, long-legged and tan, thick black hair, straight and dark as crows wings, falling to either side of her pink cheeks, full lips, ocean-tinted eyes framed by long, long lashes…she was an attractive girl, as far as that went, actually rather beautiful. He kept going to her eyes, they drew him. "All right."

She took his hand and pulled him out the doors into the dark. He glanced back to catch a glimpse of Harry looking—angry. Lex grinned to himself and thought, 'I’ve got your girl, asshole.'

2  
In the darkness, in the center of a ring of shrubs—lilacs, the scent was overpowering—she kissed him, his first kiss ever. It was…soft. Sweet. He didn’t know what to expect but sweet wasn’t it. He closed his eyes and thought how much like a recent dream this was. A shiver of desire and shame wormed through him. It'd been about Clark, all grown up and pulling him up from water, the ocean, a river…he wasn’t sure, but the feel of Clark’s lips against his was just like this, soft, sweet…the only thing missing was the feeling of finding…home?

The hands on his shoulder were firm but small, her waist tiny in his hands. It was nice, arousing even but….

She pressed her hips against his and he gasped. It felt good. She pressed up, again and again, and he grew harder with each slow grind against him.

"You like that," she said. He nodded, bright red and she giggled. "You’re a virgin aren’t you?" He blushed harder and she smiled and kissed him again. "That’s darling. You know what—I want to see that ‘hairless all over."

Lex made a protest. The sarcasm that had fueled him in the gym had flown, he was afraid and embarrassed now. 

"Really, it’s not going to hurt, it’ll be fun. It’s something I like, too." He tried to puzzle out her meaning and then her hands were going to his pants, unbuckling his belt, popping the snap and unzipping him, and he was torn between the desire to die and just—desire.

"You can’t-- you shouldn’t—"

Her hot little hands circled him and squeezed and stroked until pre-come dripped over her knuckles. He bit his lip, and prayed his legs would hold him.

"Harry’s going to have a major fit when he finds out about this." 

He got harder in her hand. "Harry?" He gasped and his dick surged.

"Oh, yeah," she said and sank to her knees. She held him and kissed the tip of his dick, his knees trembled. His dick was resting, dripping on her bottom lip, her tongue came out and licked the drops away, and she said, "He’s very possessive." She pulled him in and he came almost before her mouth closed. 

"Oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m sorry, I—"

She stood and spit into the bushes. "Oh don’t worry, first time and all. Here…" she slid her hand over his groin, over his balls and along his dick. "So smooth, so pretty," she crooned and he gasped and winced when she touched him. She looked at him speculatively. "You be careful of Harry. He wants to hurt you, I think. I think you better strike first. And hard…" She looked like she was about to say more but she leaned up and kissed him instead, and his first thought was ‘that’s disgusting’—and then he was curious, and kissed her back, his tongue slipped between her lips to taste—he licked the inside of her mouth, kissed more and more ferociously until she pulled back, gasping and laughing. 

"You like that, hunh? It’s supposed to be good for you—protein." She grinned. 

Lex grinned back, feeling cocky again since he survived the encounter. "Uh-hunh."

"I like you Lex; I think you’re going to be a whole lot of fun. Remind me to give you my number. And now—where’s my fifty?"

He started and blushed, remembering. "Oh." He reached into his pants pocket, retrieved his wallet and gave her nearly all of his weekly allowance. "Thanks. That was great. So—the next time, do I have to give you fifty again?"

"Fuck you, Lex." She smiled. "For you, it’s always free. Next time, it’s my turn. Walk me back in." 

Lex began to straighten his clothes and she stopped him. "Not too neat," she winked. 

"How did you get to be so—so—"

"Wise?" she laughed. He smiled and she said, "Surviving kid, surviving."

They walked back inside, heads turned and whispers floated their way. She walked straight up to Harry and very obviously handed the money back. She said in a loud stage whisper, "God, I can't take this, I should be paying you…" She looked over her shoulder at Lex and threw him a kiss and walked away, hips twitching. 

Lex felt all eyes on him, but the only ones he looked into were Harry’s. Harry scowled at him, his eyes burning. "Let’s go," he barked and the Dicks jumped to it. 

Lex sneered as they walked away. He felt like he won some sort of battle that Harry had waged and lost spectacularly. 

He walked back to his dorm room, thinking about the evening. It had been amazing and…scary. He undressed, put on his pajamas and went through his nightly rituals on autopilot. His mind kept going around and around in circles, thinking about the evening. He lay in bed, waiting for sleep to calm his thoughts—the sun was spilling in through the curtains, before Lex finally fell asleep.

BWLLCK

1  
Lex began throwing himself into his classes in a way that he hadn’t before. He found chemistry to be particularly appealing, and useful. He found that his new interest brought with it financial rewards and friends…of a sort. It was amazing what could be made with common household ingredients and a puritan work ethic. Watching that young man the night of the dance had been inspiring and educational, he thought. He was learning quite a bit about people and how the world worked. 

All you needed was to provide a product that the herd wanted and they beat a path to your door.

A side benefit to the strange new turn his life had taken was his friendship with Victoria. Under her tutelage, he became another person—he learned to hide his shyness under a caustic veneer, how to make anyone feel as though they were less with just a pointed look, and how to make a person feel honored to be graced with a smile…Victoria was an amazing teacher, she taught him how to draw on the mantle of arrogance, and before long everyone forgot that Lex had been looked down on, treated as something of a joke—everyone except Lex of course. 

Victoria and Lex spent whatever time they could find together. Lex enjoyed her cheerful greed, and she admired and enjoyed the fact that Lex had figured a way to make lots of money. Maybe the strangest and the happiest outcome of his new hobby, he laughed to himself, was getting out from under Harry and his trio of assholes. The assholes found that they wanted to be on Lex’s good side, since he was the go-to-guy now. Before he knew it, he had an entourage of willing delivery boys—Lex hesitated to call them ‘muscle’ but… 

As for Harry…Harry just seemed to drift away. Lex caught him from time to time out of the corner of his eye, no longer the blonde, blue-eyed Hitler youth, sneering presence of his social nightmares. 

Victoria, when she spoke of Harry, laughed at him—she definitely wasn’t one of his fans even if Lex suspected she slept with him from time to time…well, him and about a hundred other guys but this thing of theirs wasn’t about love and fidelity. It was about being horny and being fond of each other.

2  
One evening Victoria lured him into her dorm room and reduced him to a pile of melted goo, and they were sitting on her bed after, chatting about nothing and everything. Lex took a little cookie tin out of his backpack on the floor next to her bed. He pulled out a bag of grass and some papers; and was basically just nodding at what he hoped were the right places, when she said something Lex found very odd.

"You know, dearest, Harry is losing his mind about you and me."

Lex turned his attention from the album cover he was busily rolling a joint on and looked at her curiously. "What--is he jealous? So why tell me? Make him happy, then." He put the lid back on the cookie tin and handed her the fat little joint. Victoria lit it, delicately inhaled and held smoke in before speaking again.

"I will, but I want you to help me. Trust me; it’ll be a great laugh."

"What? What do you mean, help?"

She took the joint back, pinched it out, and sighed. "Never mind. I’ll explain later." She got up and he admired the way her ass jiggled, rather nicely he thought, as she walked around the room, spraying long arcs of deodorant in the air. "You know I care for you, don’t you Lex?" 

_Curiouser and curiouser_ "Of course, we’re best buds, you and I." He stood and leaned against the wall next to her, looked out of the window, watched girls muffled against the cold walking through the little square of trees in the courtyard below. 

She _was_ his best bud, at this point probably the only friend he had left after the lousy summer that just passed. He hadn’t called or written Bruce or Clark since the summer passed and he’d spent it in France with his dad instead of in Smallville. Bruce had been disappointed, but Clark had been so upset that Lex had felt too guilty to contact him. There was no way to explain to him that even if he’d promised that he would come home, he had no control over what his dad wanted from him. Those guys didn’t understand not having a choice at all. Why should they? Jonathan was a completely different person than Lionel—Lionel was a bastard and Jon wasn’t. Lex snickered softly to himself. That was it in a nutshell. Jonathan Kent was a man and Lionel Luthor was-was—a soul sucking vampire.

He sighed heavily, his breath fogged the window. And now here it was, nearly Thanksgiving and he hadn’t heard from them—hadn’t tried to get in touch. He traced his finger in the patch of steam on the glass, quickly rubbed out the C he’d begun to trace.

Victoria huffed in annoyance behind him. "Oh for God's sake. Call them. You great big pansy cry-baby."

He stared at her. "What do you mean? And has anyone ever told you what a bitch you are?"

"All the time, but I get off on it. Come on, Lexy. You know you miss your little boyfriend. Call him."

"Shut the fuck up, and don’t call me that," he muttered but thought, _I should call right now—while I still have the nerve. Thank goodness Victoria’s here— _"Okay. Give me the phone."__

She handed him a pink phone and grinned when he grimaced. "You owe me for this call. I’m not a charity, you know."

"No one knows better than I do," he murmured and she kicked him as she jumped on the bed behind him. He dialed the number, waited, actually chill with nerves. 

When Clark answered, he felt an explosion in his chest, and when Clark seemed happy to hear from him, the warmth spread through his whole body. They talked as if nothing had ever happened, because Clark was an amazing kid, he really was.

Victoria watched him carefully and Lex knew she was filing whatever it was she saw for future use—for or against him would depend on what she needed. Lex grinned at her. She mouthed _are you happy now?_ and he nodded. _Thank you,_ he mouthed back.

3  
Later he thanked her again by spending a long time laving passionate kisses on her clit the way she liked it, alternating nibbling and sucking in a way he knew made her go insane. Wrapped his hands around her thighs and pushed her legs back to her chest because she liked that too, worked his tongue into her as deep as he could while she squirmed and moaned his name and he stroked her clit with his thumb…he liked the way she trembled in long waves when he did that, and the way she cursed in the wickedest way under her breath when he screwed a finger into her ass, feeling it pushing against his dick through the thin wall of flesh when he stroked inside her—it made him harder, hotter—

She threw her legs around him tight enough to force a grunt out of him, arched right off the bed when she came. The wet heat, the pressure, the sounds she made, were enough to pull Lex over into orgasm with her. 

Lex managed to smother the name that wanted to fly out of his mouth into a groan….

 

4  
Victoria was on his mind for the next couple of days. He wondered what it was about Harry that had bothered her so much she felt the need to talk to him. He caught Harry scowling at him lot lately, or he should say, again, and it was getting on his nerves. If the asshole was jealous over Victoria, he shouldn’t have sent her after him that night. After all, Lex wasn’t stupid enough to think that what they had was exclusive—surely the idiot knew one couldn’t expect faithfulness from Victoria? As far as Victoria was concerned fidelity was an amusing concept, right up there with the Tooth Fairy and Santa... It was just something you had to accept about her and as far as Lex was concerned it was a relief.

BWLLCK

1  
Class was over and Lex was whistling as he spent a few minutes cleaning off the tables and putting equipment away. Mr. Barnes, the chemistry teacher, had been called away and Lex was being helpful because in the long run, it paid off. Always good to have someone owe you, no matter how trivial it might seem at the time. He hummed as he went about his business. This should be good for a little alone time in the lab, just him and a desire to prove that yes, it was more than possible to create better living through chemistry. 

He was just washing his hands when he heard a click and looked up. _Damn it._

Harry was standing there, frowning and looking rather...hulking, actually. He wasn’t that much taller than Lex. How was it that he managed to look so intimidating? Lex moved slowly and carefully until he had a wall against his back, it was a move that he had practiced until it looked entirely casual, one that he hadn’t actually had call to use for a while. 

"Was there something I can help you with, Harris?" Lex watched the boy’s eyes narrow and spots of red bloom on his cheeks. _Good going, you terminally smart assed idiot. Piss off the cranky giant._

Harry growled. "Harry, you prick. You know it’s Harry."

"I’m a little busy. Can we get this over with?"

Harry stamped closer, not quite in Lex’s personal space but close. "What are you doing with Vic?"

"Vic? Really? She lets you call her Vic?" Lex grinned, "What do you think I’m doing? What business is it of yours anyway? She’s not your girlfriend." Lex quickly eyed the tables as he talked, looking for something to make a handy weapon.

"I know she’s not my girlfriend—is she yours?" Harry edged closer, looming over Lex. How damn tall was the guy anyway, Lex wondered? Too late to run now, fool that he was. Lex rolled his eyes at himself. Someday, his mouth was going to be the death of him

"You shouldn’t be doing things with her, she tells me everything, she tells everyone everything." 

Lex felt a quick stab of betrayal before laughing at himself. Had he really expect loyalty from Victoria? _Of course_ what they did was fascinating gossip, as far as she was concerned. After all, didn’t he know himself thanks to her what everyone else liked? Hadn’t he laughed along with her at Pantie-Hat Boy? 

He looked Harry right in his sapphire blue eyes, and said, "Far out. Did she make me sound good at least?"

The blonde closed his eyes, and nodded.

Lex laughed out loud. "So—what, you want to know if it’s true?" Harry opened his eyes again and nodded. 

"What!" Lex jumped when Harry's hands dropped on his shoulders and clenched tight. Harry looked like an enormous unhappy toddler. His eyes were huge, too full of pain, his forehead creased; blonde hair tumbled down to his collar, unruly, untamed—it was almost sweet, Lex thought. Odd that he never saw that before.

"Can I…I’m going to…" Harry eased closer and closer, Lex stood frozen and watched Harry’s mouth coming at him as if it were happening to someone else. He thought about stopping him, running scared, but no other guy had ever approached him and. This was it, maybe his only chance—

He jumped again when warm lips touched his, an odd feeling, slightly dry, a little chapped—

Part of him was cataloging the sensation and comparing it to Victoria, and part of him was coming completely, totally, undone and it was just a dry little kiss. He didn’t even like Harry—the erection digging into his hip burned like fire. His throat was dry, his heart was pounding and he was so turned on, he felt like screaming. Harry was pressed so hard against him, Lex could feel his dick jump when he groaned. The kisses went from dry and nervous pecks to deep, wet, devouring kisses, Harry kept making noise like he couldn’t stop and Lex felt a wave of power and lust that made him weak. Harry held him against the wall and Lex was thankful. He’d be on the floor otherwise.

"She was supposed to tell you, she didn’t I kept asking her to, and she wouldn’t tell you. I want you. You’re mine."

Lex stiffened. _what the fuck? Oh no,_ he thought, _we can do anything but that. I don’t need to be owned by anyone else--_ He pushed Harry away. "I don’t belong to anyone, asshole."

Harry babbled, "I know, sorry, sorry!" and tried to capture Lex’s mouth again.

"No, get off. You can’t spend months making my life hell and then demand we skip off together into the sunset."

"I was stupid, you made me crazy; I wanted to get back at you. I should have just come to you but I wasn’t sure…"

 

Lex pushed away. "That I was a fag? Well, now you know. And now you can make it up to me."

Harry looked disheveled. His tie was crooked, his hair curled along his forehead, damp with sweat, his pants were tented and his pupils were huge. His hands twitched at his side, like he was afraid to touch Lex again. He begged, "How? When? Tell me, please."

Lex was pretty sure he meant to feel contempt and icy disdain for Harry, he was pretty sure Victoria would expect him to laugh in the kid’s face and say something cutting and cruel, but—he was kind of cute, boner and all. Too cute. He couldn’t bring himself to do what he should. Victoria was going to rip him to shreds….

 

2  
Harry was waiting outside of Lex’s class the next day, and walked him to his next class. They didn’t speak, Lex watched him from the corner of his eye as they walked along, and he looked like he might be smiling. He walked off without a word or a glance when they got to Lex’s class, leaving Lex standing in the hall looking after him. This was a completely different kid than the whimpering heap that accosted him in the lab. He wasn’t sure what he thought of this guy; hell, he didn’t know what he thought of the _other_ guy. Lex shrugged and went in to class.

Harry wasn’t there after class, not that Lex looked for him, and at the end of the school day, business concerns took over so he was too busy to spare a thought for Harry. Lex didn’t see him at dinner either, which was also fine with him.

The next day, Harry was at his door, ready to walk with him to breakfast. "I had to stay after yesterday, I had tutoring," he explained.

"Did I ask where you were? Do I give a damn?"

Harry blushed and hung his head. "No," he mumbled.

Good, Lex thought and watched the boy walk on. After all the crap Harry put him through, it felt good to see some hurt on _his_ face for once. It did. Really. Serioulsy.

 _Fuck._ "Wait for me, will you damn it? You walk too fast."

Harry stopped and turned, a very small and hopeful smile on his lips.

"So," Lex asked when he caught up with the taller boy, "What exactly are you having trouble in?"

Harry sighed and scraped along through the stones on the path as they walked. "History. I hate that class," he said, in a bored tone.

Lex looked him over closely. "You don’t like history? Why not?" 

"It’s not so much that I don’t like it, it’s…that guy is so fucking boring."

Lex nodded. Mr. Black was boring; he made history into a great big pile of dusty dead things, sucked dry of any life or interest. It galled him that the man could so murder a subject that excited and fascinated him. Lex shook his head. Black was a total incompetent. "You don’t have to stay after school, I can help you."

Harry looked at Lex, his eyes sparkled. "Really?" He ducked his head and shot a sly sideways glance at Lex. "Well, I don’t know…Marshall, my tutor...he is awfully good looking. Sexy."

Lex stopped, flustered and stung. "I—I…"

"I think he’s smart, too—very, very smart. Maybe the smartest guy I know."

Lex’s face was red from more than just the cold air. He stalked ahead angrily.

"I’m kidding you," Harry said. "See, I have a sense of humor, just like you and Vic do." He wasn’t smiling. Lex marched on, refusing to respond. 

Harry called after him in a singsong voice, "I know your weakness now…"

Lex whirled around and glared at Harry. He started away again, trying to put distance between them without actually running. So he was wrong about him, no problem, he was already forgetting him—it was something he did very well.

Harry ran to catch up; he grabbed the tail of Lex’s coat and stopped him. Leaned over until his mouth was next to Lex’s ear. "You’re vain. And too certain you’re smarter than anyone else."

Lex tried to jerk away, snarling and yanking at his coat tails, but Harry didn’t budge and Lex was furious. Harry wrapped an arm around him. "Of course you are smarter than everyone else…" Harry squeezed him close. "And you are cuter, too." Harry whispered before letting him go with a gentle push.

Lex blushed harder and tried not to look pleased. "Don’t be ridiculous." 

They walked on quietly, sat together at breakfast but didn’t speak again until it was time for classes. "Thanks." Lex said. 

"Sure. I’ll talk to you tonight," Harry said and walked away.


	8. Chapter 8

Lex soon found himself thinking of Harry with the same kind of pleasure that formally was reserved for Clark and Bruce alone. 

Harry was different—he could be sullen, and angry for no reason, sometimes he closed himself off and no amount of coaxing by Lex or Vic would bring him out of his shell. He could be sharp with Lex, but was never deliberately mean to him again. When he was happy, he was completely happy, when he laughed, Lex found himself laughing with him, found himself looking forward to Harry smiling …Harry had a way of making him feel good about himself—like Clark did.

BWLLCK

1  
Victoria was angry with Lex. "You’re ignoring me—what makes you think you can ignore me?"

Lex sighed. "Look, I’m not—it’s just that I’m so busy lately. And last week Harry and I switched roommates so we could room together, so we had a lot to do getting the room in shape, you know." He shifted the phone, ignored the snort on the other end, and pushed hair back from Harry’s forehead; he was sound asleep, rolled up on his bed in a way that, if he were a smaller guy, would be cute. "There are other things I have to do besides be at your beck and call, sweetheart."

"You’ve got Harry to do, you mean. God, I’m beginning to hate that fruit."

Lex tried not to get annoyed. "Don’t say that. It’s not his fault I’m the way I am."

"You mean addicted to dick?" There was a hesitation, and he could hear her exhale "Shit—I thought I’d have a little more time before you figured that out."

Lex laughed, partly in irritation, partly genuinely amused. "You’re such a self-centered bitch, you know?"

"Fuck—you and my psychiatrist tell me that all the time. Only Richard pays him through the nose, and he puts it nicer than you do—listen, speaking of assholes, Pat and Richard are going to go out of town again and the suite’s just begging to be used. Why don’t you come downtown with me—we can have a nice weekend. Pat thinks she lost the key to the liquor cabinet, and they always leave some of their stash behind—what do you think?"

"Okay, sounds like a plan. But not without--"

"Harry, fucking Harry. Sure. Why not? God, I remember when you loved pussy. What’s happened to us, Lex? Where did we go wrong?"

Lex laughed. "God, you’re so sick. Hey, guess what—Harry’s dad gave him permission to have a car at school next year—cool, right?"

"Groovy," she said. "I know he probably worked his tail off for that, poor little bitch."

"What, he had to do…chores or something?" Harry’s dad was a bigger dick then his dad if that was the case. Harry shifted and parts of him fell off the narrow bed, but he kept on sleeping. He had the look of an innocent if slightly thuggish angel. Lex leaned down and pressed a kiss against his brow. He didn’t hear the hesitation in Vic’s voice.

"Sure, chores…I’m hanging up, I have a date with an older guy. A real cool guy too, you’ll love him—Lou something, he’s an artist...or a musician—or maybe he said machinist, I don’t know. Anyway I promised him a threesome, you, me, and him--"

"Vic, I’m hanging up, you psycho bitch. And remember, drugs kill, okay?"

He could hear her yelling "I love you too" into the phone as he hung up. He rolled to his side and wrapped himself around the solid warmth of his lover. He sighed and pressed against him. Lover. He kind of liked the sound of that. He felt the thin string of beads around his ankle, the string that Harry had tied there earlier.

_"See, you have to keep these on, until they fall off on their own." Harry knelt on the floor and lifted Lex’s foot into his lap and wrapped the string of purple, black, and white beads around his ankle, making sure they weren’t too tight, had just the right amount of swing. Lex flexed his toes against Harry’s dick, warm and soft against his foot, damp from the very hot shower they’d taken, not quite together, there was no such thing as privacy in the communal shower but still. Lex liked watching water run off Harry, down his broad muscular back, his ass. He wanted to touch it, kiss it, but Harry hadn't made a move beyond heart stopping make out sessions that more often than not lately resulted in ruined boxers. Lex was putting all of his allowance into laundry these days. He had no idea what to do—and refused all of Vic’s offers to help._

_Harry stared at his ankle and Lex frowned. He had an ankle like a toothpick. He hated his chicken legs. Harry, though, Harry was staring at his leg like it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. He ran a hand almost reverently up his shin, curled his blunt fingers over Lex’s kneecap, hissed a little and ran oddly delicate touches behind and up the outside of his thigh, until he ran his hands over Lex’s slowly awakening dick._

_"Can I touch you here?" he asked and Lex nodded, "how about here," and he stroked into the crease of his thigh, "and here," and slid his fingers over his balls, lifting them and rolling them delicately, like they were precious to him. He breathed out, eyes narrowing pleasure, "So warm, so smooth." He bent his neck and slid the tip of his tongue over the slowly tightening sac and Lex moaned, "Don’t, don’t do that we can’t--"_

_Harry sighed, "why not?" and licked the length of Lex’s hardening dick. "I want to. I love you."_

_Lex gasped as much from the shock of that statement as Harry taking the head of his dick into his mouth._

_Love._

_He pulled away and Harry groaned in frustrated disappointment, "Why? It’s not like we have to save it for our wedding night--it’s not like I haven’t jerked you off, or you jerked me off a dozen times. What are we waiting for?"_

_Harry stomped off to his corner of the room and glowered and he looked again like the heartless thug who’d made him miserable for so long. Except now Lex couldn’t not see the bewildered child in that face. The child that reached out for love constantly. Begged for it, gave it back to Lex as freely as he asked for. Lex felt his heart swell. Harry loved him—and he loved him back._

_"Come here then," Lex smiled and Harry lit up, as unable to hide the emotions he felt as a child. He threw himself on his knees in front of Lex._

_"I’m pretty good at this, my f-friends say so—a friend—one guy, really—I’m not a slut or anything—"_

_Lex pressed fingers against his lip to stop the lies Harry seemed so sure he wanted to hear. "Talk or blow me, we can’t have both."_

_"God. Sometimes you’re like Vic's evil twin sister, you bastard."_

_Lex stopped laughing when his dick was pulled into a wet slick heat that was totally unlike anything he’d experienced up to that point in his life. It was like nothing, not like Vic, not like anything he’d imagined and it made him pant and yelp because it was too good, "oh—Harry stop—I’m going to come if you don’t stop right this minute."_

_Harry pulled back, sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes at Lex. "Stop ordering me around for once and just lay back and relax, I want you to come in my mouth."_

_Lex closed his eyes and shivered, groaning deep in his chest and Harry sucked him down to the root._

_"Harry, Harry, oh God Harry, don’t don't…."_

_Harry’s lips pressed against his belly, his breath snorted out in little puffs against his too sensitive skin, his finger walked back under his balls and up into his cleft and Lex was so gone he just lifted his hips a bit and let Harry slide a finger into him, it made his stomach clench and flutter, a feeling like he was going to explode into little bits seized him, tightened his balls, tightened every muscle, "Going to come," he panted, felt Harry drooling on him as he tried to keep Lex’s dick deep in his throat. He swallowed around Lex and it made his dick flex and spit precome into Harry’s throat, Lex winced and groaned aloud when he slid his finger back out—in the next moment he was consumed with the overwhelming urge, the drive to let go. He felt it hit him, like lightning. He came so hard he swore he was breaking in two; he pressed his hands over his mouth and ground his teeth together to keep from screaming. Under his closed lids, his eyes burned._

_Harry drew his mouth off him, dropped back, and caught the last drops Lex released on his chest. He leaned back on his heels, one hand holding him up as the other one flew up and down on his straining dick, his eyes locked on Lex’s. When Harry came, Lex felt a painful stab under his ribs at the thought of Harry looking like that with anyone else_

2  
When Harry woke Lex was sitting on the floor in his boxers, humming to himself as he sorted and filed whatever it was he had. A box of pictures sat next to the pile of envelopes, there were notebooks and loose pages and tied bundles of envelopes on the floor. Lex tilted his head back against the edge of the bed and smiled up at him. His crossed his arms across his chest, his ribs too visible—Harry knew if Lex leaned forward he’d be able to count each knob on his spine. Lex despised his thinness. It made Harry want to protect him.

Harry watched Lex for a bit and asked, "What’s up, man, what are you doing?"

"I just felt like looking over my pictures and stuff. You wanna see?"

Harry nodded and slipped to the floor, wrapping himself in the blanket he pulled down as he slid. 

"This is my mom, and my dad," Lex said. "My mom died a few years ago. I still miss her so much."

Harry reached over and cupped his cheek, kissed him on the temple. Lex leaned against him without speaking for a beat and then passed him another picture. "This is my aunt and uncle…" 

He stopped and stared at the picture, lost in thought. Harry picked up another picture lying face down and turned it.

"Who the hell is that?" he growled. 

Lex looked over and saw a picture of Bruce. "That? That’s…" _that’s kind of unbelievable_ he thought. Bruce looked…amazing. Blue eyes, blue as ice, stared out of the photo, black hair draped over his eyes a bit, he was in swim trunks and he was like a Greek statue come to life. Fuck. When did Bruce grow up?   
He looked into Harry’s eyes and smiled. "That’s my cousin, you dork."

Harry colored a little and grinned sheepishly, "Oh, heh. He’s kind of good looking, isn’t he?"

Lex laughed and bumped his shoulder against Harry, who immediately grinned wider and pressed back. "Jealous? And this is my baby cousin, his brother." He handed him a picture of Clark, looked with him and smiled.

Harry was staring at him, watching him. "Baby? How the fuck old is this kid?" He was frowning again.

Lex huffed in exasperation. "My _cousin_ is eleven."

"Oh. Oh—eleven. He doesn’t look eleven at all, and you’re not looking at him like he’s your cousin." He was still frowning as he handed the picture back to Lex and refused to talk. He stood and looked for his clothes. 

"Harry, you asshole, do you hear yourself? You’re getting jealous of a little eleven-year-old kid! Come on! Get a hold of yourself—that’s sick."

Harry whipped around and stared at him, for a long moment, and then slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, yeah you’re right. I’m sorry. That is sick."

He kept dressing and walked to the door. "I’ll be back in a little bit, okay? I don’t know why I’m acting like an asshole—how about I come back when I’m a human being again?" He smiled a little.

Lex nodded, waved him off and put his pictures away. He wasn’t going to show Harry how much it hurt for him to leave.

BWLLCK

1  
It was past curfew by the time Harry came back. Lex jerked awake hard enough to make the bed shake and rolled over to face the doorway. "Harry?"

"Shhh! Yes, it’s me," He giggled. "Quiet!" and staggered a little as he wandered towards the bed. He dropped his shoes with a clunk to the floor.

"Where have you been? I was worried, damn it." Lex’s eyes narrowed in annoyance as he watched Harry struggle with his coat and fumble over his shirt buttons.

He shook his head. "No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine. I was at Vic’s." Lex felt a bit of relief until he saw that Harry’s undershirt was inside out and stained, ripped at the collar. Lex nearly growled aloud.

"What the fuck, what if you’d been caught in her room?" It was plain what they’d been doing in her room, the bitch…he’d have to make it crystal clear to that tramp Harry was off limits now…

Harry stared at him, eyes red and glassy, lips quivering. "Please don’t yell at me, if you do I’ll cry."

 _Oh fuck!_ Exasperation made him huff; now he was dealing with his least favorite person, Little Girl Harry. "All right. I won’t yell. Come on, get in bed…" Harry came close and Lex wrinkled his nose and waved him off. "God no, take a shower first."

"Noooo…"

"Yes. I’ll take one with you, okay?" Lex had no desire to fight with him; he was too tired and too annoyed.

"Yeees!" Harry grinned gleefully and pulled Lex out of bed and into the double stalled shower that served four rooms of that floor.

He let himself be dragged along by Harry, and as he bumped up against him, Lex grimaced and tried to keep his head turned, breathed through his nose. "God, did you throw up, you stink like vomit—you just stink in general. Why did she let you go in this condition?"

Harry dropped his head and tears flooded his eyes. "She didn’t. It happened after I left her room." He sobbed. "I misbehaved."

"Christ—knock it off—don’t be a baby, damn it." Lex stripped as Harry fumblingly pulled his own clothes off. Lex reached around the bulk of him and turned on the faucets, adjusted the temperature and as soon as he was nude, pushed Harry in. Lex leaped in after him and threw his hand against Harry's mouth, anticipating the yell of shock.

Over his hand, Harry’s eyes were twinkling as if he’d heard the funniest joke ever. Lex tried to stay angry, but he couldn’t help but smile, he looked like a huge wicked elf. Harry vibrated with muffled laughter and in seconds the two of them were laughing helplessly. Harry grabbed Lex and hugged him against him. 

"I love you—forever and ever and ever!"

"Well now, this is a dream come true, declarations of ever-lasting love in the shower at one in the morning—cool."

"Yeah…ever-lasting love…" Harry stared off into the distance, smiling fatuously and Lex shook his head.

 

"Harry, you’re pretty much an idiot."

Harry grinned. "When it comes to you, I am."

Lex laughed, and reached for the shelf holding the shampoo and conditioner and the soap. He grabbed a washcloth from the hooks below it. He rubbed the soap-covered cloth over Harry’s chest, his arms, ignored his giggling and squeaking. " Tickles!" He tried to roll into a ball while standing and nearly pulled Lex to the floor.

"Oh God," Lex snapped, "You’re a walking ad for birth control."

Harry grabbed him, kissed him sloppily and shoved him against the tiled wall. "You’re the only one I want--" He leaned against Lex, pressing him into the tiles, pushing between his legs. He was too aggressive, too rough, too drunk, but Lex found himself getting aroused against his will. He fought with Harry for control, pushing back, stopping when he trapped Harry against the opposite wall. Lex pushed his fingers up under his chin until Harry's head was tilted back, eyes narrowed, panting, body shaking a little….

Water splashed on the boy’s shoulders and sprayed over Lex and he blinked to clear his eyes. Harry was staring at him, mouth open a little, eyes cloudy with confusion and want. His hands curled around Lex’s shoulders, ran up and down his side, caressing Lex's ribs, fingers dancing over the knobs of his spine. Harry reached down, slid his hands around Lex's hips, clutched his ass and squeezed, hard. Harry groaned, so desperately needy a sound that Lex was fully hard in an instant. 

Harry gasped, "Fuck me." and Lex choked on a spray of water."Please, Lex, fuck me. Please."

Lex groaned, his dick slapped against his belly, the sight of Harry turning to the wall and presenting himself made him burn. He took a step back, he had to see everything…

Harry’s muscular figure bent slightly, head down between his outstretched arms, senseless syllables poured from his mouth, words that made it plain how much he wanted. 

Lex pressed himself over the curve of his wide back, and his dick slipped into the cleft of his ass, he pulled back and pushed in again, watching the blush-red head of his dick slip in and out of view. He slid to his knees, pressed Harry’s cheeks apart, ran feather light touches over the puckered ring of muscle. Each pass of his fingers he pressed deeper, until his finger slid into slick smooth heat, the walls giving, clinging, he bent his head to see, closer and closer, and then, licked up the valley between his cheeks—he felt like he hardly knew what he was doing, but Harry groaned so loud, "yee-es…."

He pulled his fingers free and touched the tip of his tongue to him, the ring of muscle clenched when he stroked his tongue over it, softened when he twisted it gently against the pucker, opened slightly when he alternated stroking with his tongue, and stroking with his thumb. 

Harry’s legs began to shake and he groaned without stopping to breathe, Lex pushed deeper with his thumb, he slid his other thumb in alongside it and opened the muscle wider, and fucked him with his tongue. Harry was begging him, and he felt like his own body was on fire. Harry began to jerk himself off, and Lex thought that was hot…he pressed his face harder against him, and lapped and sucked at the tender flesh around his hole, driving his tongue deeper, deeper…he could tell by the sounds Harry made he was close to coming. He reached around and stilled his hand, "Wait."

Harry shook his head violently, "I can’t…can’t stop." But he took his hand away from his streaming dick and pressed both hands so hard against the tile, Lex halfway expected to hear them crack. Knocking the shampoo to the shower tiles as he grabbed the conditioner from the shelf, Lex slopped a bit in his hand, slicked himself, and pressed the head of his dick against Harry—slid in easily, deeply-- deeper than he'd meant to. 

Harry moaned, fingernails scraping uselessly against the slick tiled wall, breath barking out of him as Lex pushed in, slid out, pushed in, grabbed himself again and the noise he made stole all control from Lex. He pounded into Harry, all thought flown; any desire to make it slow and make it last, to tease an orgasm out of Harry, was gone. He wanted to come, now, in Harry. Wanted to feel Harry come. 

The world was centered on where his dick entered Harry, where muscles squeezed and milked him. Dimly he heard Harry yelling, but all that mattered to Lex now was the fire filling him, shooting out of his dick…

The next thing he was aware of was not-warm-enough water running down his back—he shivered, pulled a groan out of Harry.

"Get off, Lex, you’re killing me…"

"Fuck," Lex grit his teeth, pulled out and fell against the wall—he felt like he was still flying on the rush of orgasm. Harry turned to him; laughing, draped himself over Lex’s shaking body.

"Incredible, right?"

"Oh, God—that was more than incredible—that was fucking mind altering--that was like…" Lex waved his free hand in the air, the other wrapped in Harry’s yellow curls. He shook his boyfriend’s head sharply "Fuck."

"Yeah, Harry said, sounding awed. "Yeah, exactly."

2   
They were back in the room, Harry was still a little drunk, but clean at least, stuffed into a pair of Lex’s sweats because he insisted, and laying under the covers on Lex’s bed.

Lex was pulling on another pair of sweats. He asked Harry, "What happened tonight?"

Harry yawned and said, "Me and Vic messed around some tonight, I was upset and she was bored. We smoked a little and fucked--"

Lex struggled to keep his expression blank. He didn’t own Harry and they’d never said in any way their relationship was exclusive—or even what the hell it was exactly. Just because he didn’t have sex with anyone but Harry didn’t mean…much, apparently.

"—and after, I was walking back to the dorm and someone asked me if I wanted to get high and I said yes and I followed him and he did have weed and beer and said he’d give me some if I was nice to him and stuff happened and--" he was panting when he stopped, finally took a breath. "I’m sorry." and tears spilled down his face.

Lex didn’t react at first, Harry tended to be a maudlin drunk, one of the few annoying things about him in Lex’s opinion. His words replayed in his head and it sank in—stuff? "Stuff?"

Harry had no ability to lie, and never more so than when he was drunk. "I blew him—he wanted to fuck me but I said no. Vic already did, and I didn’t want to do it with some stranger, you know?"

Lex dropped to the floor the floor and chewed at his fingers. "Oh, of course not. Not some stranger…"

"Are you okay? I upset you, didn’t I? I kind of thought you wouldn’t care--"

"You blew someone to get high— and you didn’t think I’d care? You let our best buddy--the bitch--screw you in the ass and you don’t think I’d care? What, are you stupid?"

"Yes! We go on and on and I try to tell myself that you love me back, but you’ve never said I was yours— I was jealous, jealous of some stupid little kid who got the look _I_ wanted from you--"

"Harry for God’s sake, you fucking idiot, besides the fact that I love you, why would you let such a little thing push you to do something so…so self-destructive? You could have gotten hurt!"

Harry grinned, more of a pained grimace then a show of humor. "I know. You said it—I’m stupid. I don’t know how you do this kind of thing. I can say I love you easier than show it."

Lex shook his head and flopped next to him on the bed. "We’re...together, you and me, okay? A team. A couple."

Harry smiled happily and yawned wide. "Good. Oh. Vic wants us this weekend, it’ll be fun—you, me, and her…" He trailed off to sleep, leaving behind a frustrated, amused, annoyed, and thoroughly confused Lex

BWLLCK

1  
"Vic, you bitch—what did you do to Harry?"

"Nothing he didn’t want—what’s up with you lately? You’re such a bitch—you’re not fun anymore. You drop the business— which fuck you very much for putting a crimp in my lifestyle by the way--and did I complain? You don’t play with me anymore, it’s just Harry, Harry, Harry, but do I complain--"

"Yes! On both fucking counts—I thought my ears would bleed, you bitched so much--"

"Okay, okay! Jesus, someone’s on the rag-- look, it doesn’t matter to me that you’re being a dick--we’re still friends. And Harry needs me."

"I’m being a--! That’s not true---and not the point--he doesn’t need you when he has me."

"Oh really? He wants both of us; he wants to get together this weekend at Pat and Richard’s place. We can have fun, unwind…relax. We all need it, don’t you think? Just a private little party."

"Did you know he blew some guy for weed and beer?"

"Oh. He did? Well…tell him not to do that. He’ll listen to you."

"That’s it? ‘Tell him not to do that’? What is _wrong_ with you two? Were you raised by fucking wolves? No—screw that, that’s an insult to a fine species. You two are insane!"

"Oh please, you’re not exactly Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, for crying out loud."

"Well. I’ve never sucked off some stranger in an alley…"

"Lex! Really--how do you know it was an alley? I have to go—someone’s at the door. I’ll send Richard’s driver to pick you guys up tomorrow, okay? Toodles!"

Lex stared at the handset, the dial tone buzzing like a malignant hornet. He squeezed the plastic, wishing his hand were wrapped around the swan-like neck of a certain young woman…he was drowning in the flame of rage sweeping him. _Really—what is wrong with those two? What’s wrong with me?_ He hardly knew what made him more furious, that Harry and Vic expected him to blindly go along with whatever they asked or that he knew he would.

 

2  
Lex and Harry prepared to come into the city with Vic over the weekend, and Saturday morning they stood on the curb with a group of other students, a duffle bag packed with his and Harry's stuff between Lex’s feet. Nerves made him scowl, he’d been short with Harry all morning, but Harry took it all with a smile. Of course, that only annoyed Lex more. His scarf whipped back in a sudden gust of wind, and a noise behind him made him look over his shoulder. Harry stood there, the tail of Lex’s scarf in his face; his eyes sparkling, boring into his over the scrap of wool. 

"Excuse me," Lex snapped, and tried to yank the scarf back. Harry held it to his mouth, his eyes promised a million things, all of them wicked, and he rubbed the fine wool of the scarf between his fingers before dropping it with a wink.

Lex fumed; annoyed with himself now for falling for Harry’s smile—he was such a sucker for him. At least he would refuse to smile back at him. He would smile, yes—but not in Harry’s direction. He pulled the coat collar up around his ears, shoved his hands into his pockets. The familiar smell of damp wool soothed his nerves a bit. He worried somewhat about the upcoming scene with Victoria. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was comfortable enough to do—what they wanted. 

Snow blew into his face and he laughed to himself. So, he had limits…good to know.

Harry moved up closer. "There’s Vic’s daddy’s car…ready?"

Lex looked over his shoulder and shrugged. "I guess?"

The car pulled up smoothly to the curb and Lex tossed their bag into the back seat, Harry slid in next to him, closer and closer until Lex couldn’t move away from him anymore. He sighed and gave in completely, and Harry kissed his ear. They held hands all the way to their destination.

3  
The car dropped them at the Plaza, and Victoria met them at the lobby doors. "Hurry up, it’s freezing! 

The lights around them made her sparkle and gleam, and the lobby was brightly lit, Christmas decorations already up. Lex grinned. She pulled the boys by the hand, and they headed quickly for the elevator, Lex’s bag banging into his legs with each step. "Hey! What’s the hurry? Aren’t your parents gone for the winter?" 

Harry grabbed the bag away from Lex earning him a little frown.

Victoria laughed. "Pat and Richard are always gone for something." She pressed the elevator button and they fell inside, Vic and Harry giggling and Lex smiling but confused. "They’re in Aspen, or Saint-Moritz or some-fucking-where."

She leaned against the wall, the dark fur lining of her coat framing her face, her lips curved slightly in a secret smile. The door opened, and Victoria pulled Lex down a hallway and unlocked a set of doors that let them into a beautiful suite. Lex looked around. "This is even nicer than the Carlton." Harry just smiled. He’d been to this particular suite before.

"Oh yeah," she said and dropped her coat on the floor, pulled off her boots and told him to fix everyone a drink—she was going to break into the cabinet Pat kept her mother’s little helpers. 

4  
Vic was dancing with Harry, trying to show him some step she’d learned in the club the weekend past, and Harry kept messing up, giggling and falling all over Vic.

"Stop! Pay attention—watch me!" She was laughing and staggering, and Harry was the only thing keeping her off the floor. 

Lex shook his head, grinning as he watched them both. He scratched along his ribs, sweat rolled down his sides, even wearing nothing but his trousers, it was too hot in the suite. Vic and Harry had peeled out of their clothing after the first bowl had been passed around and with some coaxing managed to get Lex out of everything but his pants. Lex was good at feigning a careless kind of confidence but he was really too uncomfortable with his body to want to display it openly, casually, like the other two.

He was cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by a pile of Vic’s albums, bobbing his head in time to the music as he flipped through them. He set the pipe they’d been sharing in a brass bowl on the floor and dropped his selection on the turntable. He’d just put the arm down on the disc when Vic reached down and grabbed his hand, "Come on, dance with us!" They pulled him up between the two of them and wrapped themselves around him, each of them trying to outdo the other in an effort to excite Lex.

"Brother, brother…" Vic sang along to the song, her voice breathy and warm, tongue wet in his ear, Harry held his waist from behind and licked the back of his head like a Popsicle as he moved and Lex rushed along on the high everything gave him—he felt like he was plugged into the two, mentally and physically. He felt them from the inside-out, like an endlessly repeating loop, heat building higher and higher, his blood roiling in his veins as Vic sucked at one side of his neck, Harry on the other. Lex's heart pounded harder and harder until he felt like it had to break out of his chest—Vic's hands cupped him, hot little fingers squeezing, her thumb pressing against the steadily weeping head of his dick, Harry pressed into him from behind, grinding his erection against him. Even through the material of his pants, Lex felt Harry’s dick hot and hard against his hole and groaned—they teased and tortured him until his overloaded senses blew and he came, held between the two of them, hanging in their embrace….

"Oh fuck—that was so hot," Harry gasped in awe, and Vic smirked.

"Lex, Lex, Lex, no fair…" She walked backwards towards the bedroom. "Now you have to make it up to us."

She led them into the bathroom connected to the room. They stripped off Lex’s ruined pants and tumbled into the shower together, the two of them helped to clean Lex, and soon, they were out spread together on her parent’s king-size bed. 

"Oh for Gods sake! Just don’t think about it," Vic snapped and Harry just giggled as Lex turned pictures down on their faces with a grimace. "You’re too sensitive," she smirked. "You need to learn to ignore unimportant things—it’s so much easier when you do, am I right?" she asked Harry. 

He nodded solemnly, an owl-like expression on his face. "Oh yes, it makes everything easier." He looked a little less bright. "I’m not all that good at it," he confessed.

Lex felt an odd little stab of guilt, and kissed him. "You’re perfect, don’t ever think otherwise. That’s why I love you."

Vic leaned back. "Okay, that’s fine, now what about me?" Harry growled and pounced on her, kissing madly all over her face and neck, making her giggle, and then sigh as he slowed and kissed her breasts, lingering over the stiff points of her nipples, sucking them up and drawing them out between his teeth, running his hands under her back as she arched up towards his mouth.

Lex watched and moved closer, smoothing his fingers over her thighs. "What do you want me to do, Vic. Tell me?"

"Oh God, I have to talk too? Can’t I just lay back and let you --ah!—do the work?"

Harry snickered into the valley of her breasts. He kissed one and then the other, reached out and pushed Lex’s head closer to her spread thighs.

"You know what Vic likes—just do like you used to."

Lex combed his fingers through the loose curls over her pussy, lower and lower until he ran light touches over her lips, slid his fingers into the heat, circled her clit slowly. "Like that?" he asked touches so light and teasing that she cursed him—cursed Harry when he trapped her under his big hands. She couldn’t move and Lex continued to tease her until she was sobbing—

When he spread her lips with his tongue, lapped slowly and thoroughly at her clit, he could feel her groan of relief vibrate through her. "Ye--es, yes, like that, you bastard!"

Harry lay on the other side of her, tracing slow circles with his tongue, from her breast to her stomach, writing Lex’s name over and over until he was face to face with him and then Harry licked his way over Lex's mouth, over his lips, working his way in, until their tongues were working together over her clit and she bucked again and again, her head whipped from side to side, she was cursing and pleading and begging….

"Coming—coming!" She gasped and threw her head back, hands locked in the sheets and her back arched until she hardly touched the bed, whimpered and moaned, finally collapsing in a wet, groaning heap.

Lex rolled free of Vic’s legs, rolled over Harry and dropped down to lay next to him. Lex licked the taste of Vic from Harry’s mouth; he sucked at his tongue and licked all over his mouth until the only taste left was Harry, salt and sweet. Lex held him, forehead to forehead, dick to dick, knees to knees. Lex could feel the throb of Harry’s erection against his slick skin, sweat and precome making the glide easy as Harry pushed, ridge dragged over ridge, head slipped against head and a thrill shot through him, a thrill that grew with each thrust and rub, each catch of their dicks, grew until Lex felt the lightning shock of orgasm begin to race through him—heat spread between them as Harry shook in his arms, breath stuttering against his neck. He came himself with a gasp and a low soft sigh.

"Pretty." 

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Vic’s flushed face inches above his, and felt a wave of vertigo sweep over him. He felt a sudden overpowering need to be alone.

 

Lex left Harry laying with his head in Vic’s lap, she was stroking her fingers through his wheat gold curls over and over, he was humming quietly, eyes closed, petting her thighs absently.

He made his way to the bathroom, his head and stomach swooping with every step. He leaned his head against the cool marble wall and groaned gratefully as the tiles sucked the heat from him. He rolled, rested his shoulders against the marble. He could hear Harry and Vic talking—he closed his eyes and waited out the vertigo and listened to them

_"So, he’s getting you a car, hmm? What did you let him do to you?"_

_"I don’t let him *do* anything to me—he needs me sometime, that’s all. He loves me…I make him happy."_

_"Yeah—you make him happy and Daddy Dearest gives you a car. Here—toke."_

_"Ouch, watch the ash…I didn’t ask for it, not really. If he wants to do things for me, I’m not going to tell him not too, right?"_

_"What about your mother? I mean, say what you want about Pat, she would never put up with that shit. She’s bounced ex’s before for trying—not that I needed her help." She puffed a delicate cloud of smoke upwards and pinched the tip of the joint. "It was probably just jealousy on her part, anyway," she muttered._

_Harry laughed. "My mother? I hate that fucking bitch. She hates us both, always has…."_

Lex was plastered against the wall, fighting to stay upright He felt frozen with horror, his mouth dry and sour. They were so casually discussing…nightmares. 

He swallowed hard, peeled himself off the tiles and looked about before settling his gaze on the medicine cabinet. He pawed through it, _thank you Pat._ and grabbed a couple of Darvons, swallowed them, slurped down a few palmfulls of water. He scrubbed cold water over his face, his scalp, leaned against the sink and waited for the shakes to stop. Slowly, slowly, his tense shoulders and stomach muscles relaxed. He was ready.

When he came out, Harry was inside of Vic, thrusting slowly, his face thoughtful—a million miles away. He looked back when Lex climbed onto the bed--"Please Lex--please."

He grabbed the lube from the nightstand, slicked his dick and jerked, squeezed, closed his eyes and thought of... _Bruce_ … nearly sighed with relief when his dick began to stiffen. He watched Harry’s ass tighten and relax as he trust in and out of Vic, leaned over and held him between his hands, forcing him to still, more pressure spread him slightly, revealing the pink knot at the center.

Vic looked over her shoulder. "Do it," she gasped. "Do it."

Lex kissed Harry at the top of his cleft, sucking tiny blushes over the sensitive skin there, lower and lower until he was jabbing his tongue into the clenching muscle, his face flamed when Harry moaned long and low, "Lex, God—I love that but fuck me, please…"

Lex rose and pushed in slowly, watching the pucker give, lube lending a gloss to the purple head of his dick and the pink ring clutching at him, the action drew a groan out of him and he sank deeper into smooth, slick tightness so hot it felt like the head of his dick was on fire…he laughed and sank in further, Harry gasped,"Ow—slow--no don’t stop, it feels so…oh God."

His head dropped and he let Lex’s thrusts drive him into Vic—he pushed back on Lex and shuddered and Lex moaned desperately. It was too good; he’d never make it past a few minutes. They fucked each other in tandem, each stroke building on the next, higher and higher.

Harry groaned and muttered something non-stop, little sobs catching in his throat, and breaking up the words—Lex strained to hear it and suddenly Vic lurched back, pushing Harry to his knees and Lex deeper inside him. Sweat wet skin slid and stuck and Lex inhaled sex and heat.

Harry’s head fell back against Lex’s shoulder and he heard the words he’d been groaning over and over, "Fuck me Daddy, fuck me, fuck me…"

Lex stopped dead—too far, too deep, too close to hold back, he was coming but it felt like razors, felt like being punched in the gut. He tipped Harry over and he slammed into Vic and a long hoarse stream of sound poured out of him. Underneath it Lex could hear the mewling sound Vic made when she came.

He pulled out as soon as Harry relaxed somewhat—he was in the bathroom in moments. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, revulsion twisted his features and he heard Harry again, his words burning like acid in his head—he leaned over the toilet and gagged up what little was in his stomach. 

How could they? How could he accept so calmly what Lex had been fighting against for years? Harry acted like it was normal---Lex gagged again.

As soon as Lex had been able, he’d fought back—and won. He was pretty sure he’d won. His life might be warped series of games, a maze of twists and turns he negotiated through blind and led by a beast that at any moment might decide it was more fun to eat him than to lead him but he slept at night…most nights.

He loved Harry. At the moment, that was all he was sure of. Harry was real and solid and loved him in return, he was right there…right now.

He rinsed his mouth and came back into the room, acted like nothing happened. He crawled between the two of them and willed himself to fall asleep.

Late in the night, a sound woke him: talking, soft and fast. He got up, Vic was gone. He pushed the bedroom door open slowly, quietly, and candlelight from the living room drew him. 

Vic was hunched over the telephone, a drink spilled next to her, wrapped in her long fur-lined coat.

"Why not? Why not for just one day—Christmas day—no, I _don’t_ want to go home with Harry, you know why…" Her breath hitched and she laughed, "No—not Lex, he doesn’t have Christmas, he just has a bunch of—of social obligations." Lex felt stung, even though it was the truth. "If he can get out of them, he won’t want me ruining his good time…I’m _not_ being self-pitying—Mother, please. Just one day, please…" Her laugh was more a sob, "Thanks yes, meet you at Arles, thank you—hello?" She replaced the handset carefully "Mom…" and sobbed quietly, her coat sleeve over her mouth. 

Lex felt like his heart was shattering. He took a step closer. "Vic…"

"Lex, leave me the fuck alone, all right? Just—give me a minute—and if you ever talk about this to anyone, I’ll cut your balls off, you hear?" she sniffed loudly. "See? Even I can be stupid sometimes. Go to bed, I’ll be there in a minute."

He nodded, even though her back was to him, and went back to bed. He was asleep before she returned. 

The rest of the weekend passed in a violent blur—things happened that afterwards he was never sure if he’d dreamed some of them or not. Revelation of weakness brought out an incredible inventiveness from Vic, and depth of coldness, hardness that should have frightened him, but that he reveled in. They buried everything in each other that weekend, pictures from those days would come back to haunt him in bits and pieces later—but now, nothing could hurt him, he was young and in love and invincible and if he choose nothing could hurt him….


	9. Chapter 9

Letter from Scotland

December 20, 19__  
Dear Spooky,  
Hi. I’m so sorry I going to miss Christmas with you guys again this year. I really, really wanted to be with you but Dad decided he needed to visit Scotland for God's sake don’t ask me why—he’s a strange person. Anyway, he spent a lot of time stomping around looking at rotten old castles, and I spent a lot of time reading in our hotel room. Not a loss, I read a great book about time travel at the end of the world. The hero was pretty cool. I’ll lend it to you, even if you don’t like SF you might like this.

How are Aunt Martha and Uncle Jon? I miss them a lot, and I miss you a lot. Did I say that already? (Grin.) How’s my other favorite cousin? I bet he’s starting to knock the girls dead. How’s your girlfriend doing? Speaking of girls, Vic threw a party for us before Christmas break. Vic is a wild woman, she’s taught me a lot of stuff some of it’s illegal in a hell of a lot of states, (laugh.) she really will do anything. I gotta say, she’s got me wound around her little finger. Remind me to tell you all about Vic’s idea of a party when I see you. Which by the way will be in the summer. I’ve managed to get Dad to swear he’ll let me spend the summer, if it’s okay with Aunt Martha and I know it will be because she loves me. She tolerates you, but she loves me. So ask her and don’t be sad when she moves your stuff to the barn (The one the cows sleep in) so) I can have your room! 

Tell Clark I miss him and he’ll get a present from me soon. You too, of course.

Your best friend in all the world and you know it’s true.  
Casper  
* * * *  
December 27, 19__  
Dear Lex,  
Thank you for your letter. I got your gift, thank you for the sweatshirt. It’s nice. Clark liked the coat of arms. I’m sure he’ll put it on his wall. We sent your presents to the penthouse because we didn’t know where else to send them. I’m surprised you were in Scotland, but then, Ma was surprised I didn’t know. I don’t know why, it’s not like you and me talk that often. 

I’m seeing Serena more now since she’s home on break. We double date with a friend of hers, a guy named Sean and his girlfriend. Sean is in my judo class. He’s a good friend of mine now too. Mr. Mac, my instructor, is giving me private lessons and I’m doing really good. If you come this summer, I’ll take you to see a class. 

Serena says she knows Victoria. She laughed when I told her you were dating her. Why? Are you or aren’t you? You don’t need to pretend you have a girlfriend. It’s okay to tell me. If you want.

Clark is getting to be a handful. He thinks he’s grown and doesn’t have to pay attention to me now. Let’s just say I’m glad I’m taking the judo. Not that he tries to hurt me but wow, temper! He’s worse than Pop on his very worse day. He’s learning to control it but I’ve gotten real good at plastering holes. 

Thank you for writing.  
Bruce

* * * *  
Dec. 27. 19__  
Dear Lex, 

Bruce said you wrote you might come home for the summer but I shouldnt hold my breath. Lex you need to come home it’s not fair! It’s been a real long time and I know we talk a lot on the phone but I want to see you! Please don’t disapoint me again. I want you home for my brithday. I’ll be a teenager this year. It’s important. I want you here.  
Please come home this summer.  
Tahnk you for the cool coat of arms too! The guys were so jealous. You should have seen Pete’s face when I showed it to him. He was kind of disapointed that we couldn’t get the swords off of it. Probably for the best, Whitney said that it was very nice and that you must be a real cool guy. See? You need to come and show them that you really exist!  
Love you  
Your friend Clark. 

P.S.I put a picture of me in. So you can reconize me when you see me again. Smile

* * * *  
Postcard from Scotland National War Museum

Spooky, what’s up? Are you okay?  
Casper

* * * *  
Postcard from Loch Ness

Clark, I’m going to be home for summer. I promise.  
Love you too.  
Your cousin

1  
Bruce reread the postcard, stared at the guy in the strange uniform on the front and flipped it into a corner. He’d read it a dozen times. He was still pissed at Lex. What the fuck, they hadn’t been Spooky and Casper for years, what made him think he could trot that shit out now? ‘Cause he was lonely? Fuck Lex. He didn’t care when he was fucking that Victoria bitch, did he?  
Bruce sighed, immediately feeling like crap for thinking that way. Lex wasn’t a little kid and what he did wasn’t Bruce’s business, he didn’t have a right to get angry—but it hurt anyway. He shifted on the loft floor, lifted his feet on the couch, punched up the pillow and shoved it under his head again. He pulled a heavily creased and grimy square of paper out of his front pocket, the letter he’d received before the post card. The stupid letter that he’d left out on the table, the stupid letter that had stupid little blurry spots all over it. Stupid Lex.

Bruce sighed louder and rubbed his face, hard. It wasn’t Lex’s fault, this stuff. Lex couldn’t know that Clark had some kind of hang-up about him that never seemed to get weaker. It was his fault for leaving the letter out where Clark would read it and blub all over it—damn, that had been a doubly stupid move. What if Ma had seen it? The last thing he needed was for her to know about Serena, or Lex.

He rolled over to his belly and kicked his feet against the couch. What if Lex knew about him? About Clark? What would he think? 

That Victoria person was a pretty far out chick, she must know people who were queer. Lex was in the city—he must know people like that too. Maybe it wouldn’t freak Lex if he found out that the person Bruce really liked screwing, better than Serena, was Sean. She was great but Sean... something in his gut pulled hot and tight when he thought about Sean and how he made him feel, and when he pictured Lex in Sean’s place, it made that tight feeling almost hurt. Fuck.

And Clark. Poor Clark was still walking around in a funk. Bruce felt terrible for the kid, he was like a shadow, gray and quiet, but he no idea what to do for him. With any damn luck, he’d meet someone, who’d take his mind off of Lex. Someone suited to him. He was just a little kid…sooner or later some girl had to capture his eye. Bruce blew out a hard breath. Or boy.

BWLLCK

1  
Clark worked hard to make it look like he was struggling to get to the top of the hill, and fighting to hold back was actually making him a little breathless and flushed. It really was a little harder riding through high thick grass instead of on a smooth surface. The way the pale green blades whispered and bent as they parted for them made him think of waves, kind of like riding through the ocean, and he told Whitney that.

Whitney laughed and said he thought if it was possible to ride through the ocean that it probably was like that. He grinned at Clark, like he did whenever Clark had an attack of fantasy. Whitney was not an imaginative kid, or rather, when he looked out at the world, he saw just what was there and not anything else. Far from making him boring, Clark found that talking to Whitney could be very rewarding. Whitney thought hard about what was around him, he studied it, and missed very little. If Clark had any idea how much Whitney did see, he might not have been willing to spend so much time with him, he might have been frightened.

He didn't know that Whitney could see and did understand that Clark needed to keep his secrets; that Whitney silently agreed that it was right to do.

 

2  
They were at the top of a big hill, one that looked out over the far end of town. From one side Clark could just see the lake that he’d almost died in a few summers ago, from the other, they could see the windmill in Chandler’s Field. A breeze made the grass ripple like ocean wavelets; Clark watched the rolling movement with a peaceful smile. 

Whitney quietly enjoyed Clark’s pleasure in that simple thing. It was good to see his friend smile again. The last couple of days he’d looked so sad. Whitney had decided it had something to do with his mysterious cousin, the bald kid that he had a million pictures of. This cousin of theirs seemed to be a huge presence in both Clark and Bruce’s lives. They both acted like there was this huge ‘Lex’ shaped hole in them. Whitney was pretty sure that neither of the boys realized how much the same it was for both of them. 

He reached down and snapped off a green blade of grass, put between his thumbs—a whistle. He blew into his hand and Clark laughed at the sound; Whitney laughed too. He stuck the blade between his teeth and Clark copied him, and they chewed silently for a bit. Whitney liked the familiar flavor; it was the taste of summer to him. Summer was peeking around the corner, with summer came freedom…. 

He smiled and sank into the grass and leaned his elbows on the soft ground. Clark dropped down a foot or two away and seemed to be thinking hard. 

“Whitney,” he said after a while, “Have you wanted to be around somebody, like, all the time? And when you think about them, it just feels so good, you know?”

Whitney searched Clark’s expression, and looked skyward. “Mmm. Yeah. There’s this girl…”

Clark looked surprised. “Really? When—I’ve never seen you look at any girl.”

Whit spit out the well-chewed grass stem. “Well, you know that telescope I have in my room? It’s...it's kind of not pointed at the sky. More like, down the lane…” His fair skin flared red across his cheekbones.

“Whitney—you’re a peeping tom. You know that’s what they call it, right?” Clark was enjoying this way too much, Whitney thought.

“It’s not like I watch her undress and yeah, I know what they call it.” He ripped out a handful of grass and threw it at Clark, who dropped flat ion the ground moaning as if he were in pain.  
Whitney snorted and lay down too. “Anyway, she’s pretty and nice and I’ll point her out to you tomorrow at lunch.”

“Cool.” Clark said but he sounded distracted. 

Whitney sighed. Here we go, he thought and said aloud, “So, someone’s on your mind, Clark m’boy?”

“Yes. For a long time.” He was quiet for a moment. “Pretty much always, I guess.”

Whitney thought briefly about shushing him, and felt a little prick of guilt. He was his friend. He could handle this. Whitney cleared his throat and said, “Do you want to tell me who? I don’t know them—or do I?” And for a moment, with Clark focused totally on him, he felt a curious sort of feeling, like a pale shadow of jealousy, float through him for this mysterious and apparently completely stupid cousin.

Clark shook his head. “No, you don’t know them…they don’t go to our school…” He stopped and swallowed and looked at Whitney with a kind of helpless pain and fear.

Whitney tried to make his expression as encouraging as he could, he saw Clark’s mind working through Whitney turning from him and then turning others against him, and it was a possibility but it would never come from Whitney, never….

Poor Clark, he was torn between the need to tell and paralyzed by the habit of not telling, wso Whitney broke the silence. “It’s a guy, isn’t it Clark?”

Clark paled and gulped, his throat working. He nodded, and a squeak of air forced past his lips. He swallowed again. “Yes.” He whispered. And louder, “Does it--” He stopped and slid away even further from Whitney, pulled his legs up under his chin.

Whitney raised a hand up to hold Clark in place, not touching him, just asking him not to run. “I always knew you were different and I liked it. You’re a special person Clark, anyone who can’t see that is dumb or blind. You’re my friend because I wanted to be around someone special like you. Nothing else matters.”

Clark stared at Whitney open-mouthed. “Really? You mean it?”

Whitney nodded. Clark’s shoulders slumped with relief. “I haven’t even told my parents—I’m afraid. What if…I haven’t told my brother, not really. He hates it, I think. Whenever I try to tell him, he makes me stop. I think—I think he’s afraid he won’t love me anymore if he knows.”

Whit shook his head, and lay down again. “Get the candy bars will you?”

Clark took the candy out of the little leather bag attached to the back of his bicycle seat. They split it between them, chewed silently for a bit. 

“Okay, Clark, Bruce doesn’t think that way; he won’t hate you for that. Being you know…” Whitney searched his mind for a good word to call…being homo. He grimaced slightly but Clark hung on his words like a lifeline. “But.” He stopped, started again. “You know, don’t you, that he loves Lex just like you do?”

Clark’s cheeks flamed red and he jerked back.” No he doesn’t! I mean, he does, but not like that!”

Whitney wasn’t surprised that Clark got angry. In his experience he found people very rarely looked, really looked at the world or the people around them. He supposed part of it was to protect themselves but he couldn’t imagine going through life with blinders on—sometimes knowing was painful, but sometimes it was so wonderful it outweighed the bad. 

He'd rather see than not. He sort of needed to. And being aware of people and their shortcomings, it was okay that Clark was angry, that he didn’t want to believe it, he knew that Clark had never _seen_ Bruce and Sean. He knew that Clark wouldn’t believe Whitney knew he wasn’t really a Kent, probably wasn’t even human, and that being a homo was the least of Clark’s surprises. 

He looked at Clark fondly. Clark was so damn sweet, so very nice—how could you not care about him once you got to know him, no matter what? Clark was the brother he’d never have. He’d help. Whatever way he could, he’d help Clark with his secrets. 

On the way back to town, Clark heard all about the girl that Whitney thought was pretty perfect, and they talked a little more about Lex. Clark made Whitney promise not to tell Bruce, but Whitney turned it around, and got a promise from Clark that he’d talk to Bruce. “You might be surprised at how understanding he’ll be.”

Clark had a brief flash of—something--a memory, a dream maybe, that he’d told Bruce he loved Lex but it felt like he’d been very young, and little kids said goofy stuff all the time, didn’t they?

He wished Lex were home now. He wished it were already summer. Forget Bruce, Lex promised him and this time he knew he really meant it. Lex would be home this summer for sure.

BWLLCK

1  
Vic called him a few days before prom, terribly sweet and docile, asking about Harry and worrying about them being separated for the summer. She made all the appropriate concerned-friend sounds, in fact Lex was sure that some part of her actually was concerned, the part that wasn’t focused on herself, small and nearly insignificant as that might be. He let her ramble on for a while and then figured it was time to cut to the chase.

“Listen, hon, as wonderful as it is to hear your voice, since we haven’t spoken since, oh gosh…yesterday, what exactly do you want? I’m busy packing here, you know?” Lex and Harry had just begun to sort through their stuff, preparing to go home for the summer, and he was appalled at how much of it had tangled together.

“Lex, you hurt me, you really do. I just called to chat—wait, wait,” she yelled as Lex told her goodbye. “I need you prom night. I need you to help supply my party. It’s just a little thing, and since I never ask you to do anything for me--”

“Vic, you ask me all the time. No, I can’t.” He jammed the phone between his ear and shoulder and tried to pack. The handful of underwear he pulled out of his dresser drawer were mostly Harry’s. He tossed them onto his bed and tried to block out Vic’s babble—

“Listen to me honey, just one little party, what can it hurt? One time and never again, as God is my witness!”

He grabbed a single pair of Harry’s briefs back from the tangled pile on the bed, quickly folded them and stuffed them in his bag. “What? Can you even say God without your lips catching on fire?”

“Ha ha, fuck you. This is the deal—Richard rented a suite for me at the hotel the prom’s being held at and I’m having my after part y there and I invited some of my other friends and Lex, I _need_ to make a good impression. Connections, Lex, remember: it’s not where you went to school, it’s who you know. Connections are everything. And I know you still have very good connections plus, you’re talented in that regard yourself…”

Lex let her drone on; enchanted as she was with the sound of her own voice he doubted she’d notice that he wasn’t paying attention. 

He wasn’t too crazy about Vic’s crowd, but he figured he could deal with them for as few hours, and besides, Harry liked them and. Well. It was important to Vic and no matter what a flake she was, he did love her. Think of it as a parting gift, he told himself. It can’t hurt. “All right, I guess I can cook a little something up, but if you want more than that…get a pen and paper and I’ll give you a few names.” 

Lex hung up on Vic’s loud and enthusiastic professions of love eternal a few minutes later and returned to packing. 

Harry came in a little after dark, and Lex told him what Vic wanted to do. 

“Ah, she’s going to rent out the room. Cool.”

“She is?”

“Sure, it’s a great way to make cash, y’know? You provide the room, the shit, you party and have a great time and you make more than you spent. Groovy.” He stuck his head into the closet and groaned. “You couldn’t pack for me?”

“Hell no!” Lex flopped onto the bed and propped himself up on one elbow. “You have a criminal mind, young Harold.” He watched Harry toss stuff on his bed, noticed one of the tee-shirts flying through the air was his.

“Nope—just practical—I can see where money’s wanting to be made. You probably could use some cash for over the summer, right? Are you going home after or what?” He dragged a suitcase over to his bed and dropped it.

“A few days at home and then to my uncle’s place, thank god. And you’re coming to visit right?”

“Uh, hmm. So, are you scared about next year?” 

"No—why should I be? It’s just one more year here, and then, graduation. We’ll go to college together, we’ll have fun, and we’ll do well. The best part is, I get part of my inheritance and we can live together. All nice and tidy. I’ve got it all figured out.”

Harry leaned around his closet door and grinned at him. “Hey, It’s like Love Story without the painfully crappy death scene, hunh?”

“Don’t make me vomit.” Lex frowned and Harry laughed. 

“Anyway, I think it’s right to do this for Vic, we won’t see much of her next year and we kind of owe her, right? We need to give her a good send off to college.”

Lex raised an eyebrow. “You’re very generous with my time.”

“What can I say? I’m in a loving mood today.” he smirked.

Lex smiled, slow and wide. “Oh, that’s good to hear." He leaned against the headboard of the narrow little bed and spread his legs. “So am I…” he traced his fingers over his stiffening dick.

Harry grinned even wider, dropped the clothes in his hand and ran to leap on the bed.

2  
The prom was a glittering over the top affair, the ballroom turned out for the young guests. A band chugged away on the stage at the far end of the room, working their way through some supposedly popular song and Lex leaned on the back of Harry’s chair, stiff with boredom. 

“I hate things like this. I always have. I hate dancing in public. I hate this fucking tux, I hate the music…God, do I ever hate the music.”

Harry tilted his head back, rubbed his curls against Lex’s vest. “You’d better get used to it—if you work for your dad you can expect attending a lot of these. Besides it’s not so bad. It can be fun. If you stay out of the coat closet,” he snickered.

Lex grinned and pulled a curl. “No more coat closets, not unless you’re there too.” He grinned down at Harry and looked out over the floor with a little sigh.

“I know,” Harry said, correctly reading Lex’s mood. “It sucks but we can have our dance later. Private.” He reached back and patted Lex’s leg.

Vic made a slow and twisted return to them, working her way through the crowd, stopping every so often. She finally came back to stand between them, giddy and laughing as she wrapped her arms around Lex and kissed him sloppily. He held back from pushing her away and let her maul him for a few seconds before easing her gently back.

“Let’s go up to the room now, all right? You and Harry.” She turned to him. “Want to go up now,” she pouted. 

“Yeah, Lex was just complaining about how bored he was.”

They went up to the floor the room was on and seconds later a knock at the door sent her scurrying. “Company!”

She let in a few couples, stacked records on the turntable and opened the bar in the corner of the room. “Now, try to keep it down,” she giggled, collecting money from each couple. “Have fun.”  
Harry took the money from her with a smile. “I’ll hold on to it, love, you have fun.” He winked at Lex.

More couples began to trickle in, and the suite slowly filled up. Conversation fought with the music, and Lex felt the first tentative prods of a headache. Harry had wandered off somewhere with Vic and he thought about going after them. What he really wanted was a few minutes of quiet; the headache was definitely showing interest in camping behind his eyes. The suite was nearly wall-to-wall people now. There really was no place he could slip off to for a little quiet—he briefly though of paying Vic for one of the bedrooms and grinned.

The music pounded in his ears and chest, his eyes burned a little from the smoke. He began to sweat, bodies were pressed against him and he was so thirsty…he loosened his tie, popped a few shirt studs and gratefully accepted a Coke from someone in the crowd, worked his way back to the living room.

Vic’s friends, an older crowd, circulated through the giddy teens, some of them looking unworldly, almost alien and unreal among the children of the rich and elite. One ice-blonde woman on stiletto heels stopped him and before he could move, wrapped herself around him, kissed him until he was faint and blood rushed into his dick. “You looked too delicious, darling, I had to have a taste,” she purred into his ear. “I was right, sweet as candy, mmmm...” and she rubbed against him like a cat. A panther. Lex distinctly felt an erection grind against him through the long satin skirts of the dress. He gasped, and she raised an eyebrow and smirked before whirling around in a cloud of perfumed lace and satin skirts, and stalking off. 

The air was getting heavier with smoke and body heat, his head was beginning to whirl, moving through the crowd, being touched all over, licked, scratched, kissed. His skin was humming, he was hard and too hot, there were too many people and none of them was Harry and it was making him hurt—  
He moved towards the back bedrooms and the sound and smell of sex made him dizzy. He leaned against a wall, and immediately someone was touching him, cradling his stiff dick, mouthing his neck. He tried to say stop, but his mouth wasn’t working, his brain wasn’t working. He could see into one of the half open doors, in the darkness he could see a half dressed boy, back arched and hands wrapped around the head of the boy going down on him, and he shuddered. The gasps and soft cries of strangers shot straight to his dick and the feel of cool fingers on his overheated flesh made him twitch. He wanted to run; he reached down to push a stranger away, “No, no…” His finger tangled in blond curls and he sobbed in relief. "Harry. Harry." 

He looked up at Lex. “Yes, it’s me—” he rubbed his cheek against Lex’s hip and Lex sighed in relief. “Please.”

Harry yanked his pants down roughly, swallowed him with a growl and yanked at his hips, fingernails digging into his flesh. 

He was coming down Harry's throat, groaning and jerking his hips when the door to the suite crashed open and all hell broke loose.

BWLLCK

1  
In the end, their fathers’ money was the only thing that kept them all out of seriously hot water. A lot of money, a lot of favors were owed out…Lionel added blackmail to Lex’s burden of favors owed when he resorted to just that to keep Lex in school. An ultimatum was reached—straighten up or suffer the consequences and Lionel promised he was worlds more creative than the state, and didn’t Lex have proof of that already?

2  
Lex wedged himself into a corner of the huge leather chair that faced his dad’s desk, his legs pulled up, head on his knees, listening for his footstep. He was alone; he’d been waiting for over an hour for his father to finish his meeting. It was early afternoon and at that point Lex hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven that morning. His stomach ached, his mouth felt sticky and dry at the same time.  
Today he’d find out what his fate was to be. Back to school or…something else his father chose for him.  
The door creaked open and Lex’s heart leaped in his throat and he straightened quickly, quickly enough he hoped.  
His dad walked around the desk, eyes on Lex the entire time.  
"Lex. Wait in outside for a minute." Lionel sat, picked up the phone and seemed to dismiss Lex from his mind. He dialed as Lex walked out of the room to wait in the hall, quivering inside, certain thephone call concerned him.

3  
 _Lionel put wheels into motion. Lex was his, and as such needed to be protected. Whatever punishment Lex received was his decision only.  
“Chairman Bryce, please, it’s Lionel Luthor. Ah. Ronald. How are you, yes it is a problem. Of course you don’t. Now let me explain to you what’s happened since Lex was sent home. The incident at the hotel—that was a mistake. It never happened. There are some ridiculous rumors but if you contact the hotel, you’ll find that they’re just that, rumors. There are no police reports. There were no drugs. No sex parties, that’s a repulsive and disgusting slander.” He frowned up at the ceiling, swung his chair around. Little bastard.  
“Now, on the matter of the expulsion…I believe that was an honest mistake. Mr. Reynolds is a fine man I’m sure, but perhaps under rather a lot of stress. I’m sure he’s capable but…I feel, and certainly you must agree; a more familiar situation would suit him better. I’m sure he’d make an excellent principal at an urban school. Perhaps an inner-city school. He’d be more likely to identify with the needs of those students as opposed to…the type of student Excelsior has…why don’t you and the board suggest it to him. I’m certain he’ll agree with you. Did you say something, Ronald? No? You know, I thought the last time I came to visit Lex that what your school needed was a library, a state of the art library…I think Lex and his fellow students would enjoy that, don’t you? Shall we meet next Monday then? I look forward to it. Goodbye.”_

4  
Lex was called back into the office; Lionel’s eyes were bright and hard on him as he walked slowly into the room. Lex met them, refused to blink, and finally Lionel glanced away with a smirk. He said, "You’ve placed me in a position I’ve not been in for some time. I don’t like owing out more favors than I’m owed. And now…” his offered Lex a tight smile, laughed brightly. “Well. I’m certainly over a barrel, son. I surely am.”  
Lex sat still as a bird under the eye of a hawk. He tried again to meet his dad’s eyes without blinking but his eyelids fluttered like wings….  
Lionel stood and walked over to him, and he fought to breathe calmly, shallow breaths barely moving his chest. He kept his gaze locked on the far wall, felt a touch on his cheek; his dad’s fingers were freezing cold. “I know you don’t want to make me angry. I know you’re sorry about that.”

BWLLCK

 _an unsent letter  
May 28, 19___

_Dear Bruce,  
Is Clark mad that I haven’t sent him mail or talked to him in a while? I just haven’t been able to come up with fun things to tell him. I’ve been going through a bad couple of weeks. I almost got kicked out of school. I lost a good friend, and someone I love. I love him so much and we can’t see each other, every day I’m apart from him makes me want to die. I hope you’ll still be my friend. It’s like my whole life blew up and turned to shit. I ‘m almost eighteen and feel like I’m a hundred.  
I think I lost my mind. Can you be crazy and kind of not know it? I need to talk to you, I need to be home. Dad said I could go, I’ll be there. I wish my family had been shot instead of yours. They deserved it not like yours. Someday I’ll hurt him I swear to God, I’m going to hurt him.  
* * * *_

_May 29, 19___

_Dear Bruce,  
Could you please apologize to Clark for me and tell him I’m coming home  
I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, due entirely to stupidity on my part. I was almost expelled from school, I lost friendships that meant a great deal to me and all in all I’ve been miserable. Do you think you can put up with me for the summer? Am I welcome?  
Love,  
Lex  
* * * *_

_On the back of a postcard decorated with a Ratfink sticker_

_Casper,  
Don’t be stupid. Come home.  
Spooky_

* * * *

1  
He was on the Kent driveway, his dad’s driver had waved and sped off like the country was catching. So… here he was, his bags at his feet, sweat already crawling down his back and he didn't see anyone, where was Clark, and Bruce—

Suddenly dust blew up head high and little pebbles flew and spattered around his feet and he found himself swinging through the air.

“Lex! Lex!” 

“Clark! Put me down!” Clark had him in his arms, swinging him around like Lex was the little kid.

“Sorry, sorry!” but Clark was laughing and certainly not in the least sorry. He grinned at him and Lex was struck with how tall he’d grown, how confident he seemed. How beautiful his eyes were, like green crystal, ringed by the thickest, blackest, lashes he’d ever seen on a guy. 

“Lex, you finally came. I have so much to tell you.” A little group of boys he hadn't noticed before stood off to the side, in the open door of the barn, staring at Lex in open amazement. Clark gestured them forward. “This is Lex, my cousin,” he said proudly. “You know the one.” They nodded and seemed impressed. “He’s eighteen, and he knows how to ski and speak French and he scuba dives too, right Lex?”

“He does? All that?” A voice in his ear asked and Bruce was standing next to him for the first time in ages. Lex turned to look at him and his breath caught in his throat. With Clark the promise of incredible beauty was there, one day soon, Clark would be mind-blowing—but Bruce was already there. 

Bruce was gorgeous. Jet black hair and the bluest eyes in the worlds, just like Lex remembered but, muscular, just a bit shorter but broad and solid. Bruce's smile lit up his eyes and dimpled his cheeks and for a moment Lex felt a lick of heat, and felt immediately guilty—heartache that was a constant companion flared brighter. He quickly bent to pick up his suitcase and told the boys to lead on.

He looked up the drive and Jon and Martha were waiting for them on the porch, his eyes watered before he gained control and forced a smile, he felt like he was finally home. He felt like he was finally safe.

2  
Lex unpacked his bags—more of a dumping the contents of his suitcases onto the floor than an actual unpacking of items. He looked around the blue painted room—his room, whenever he visited Uncle Jon’s. He sat on the edge of the bed and drew in a long shaky breath. 

Shuffling his feet on the corny old red and blue braided rug, flopping down on the wide, old fashioned bed, grinning at the plaid cowboy curtains at the window, just—just being in the room made it easier to breathe. He dropped back on the bed and rolled until he was crammed safely against the wall. The cool plaster felt good against his face, and even the smell of the wall was strangely soothing. He decided it would be all right to close his eyes for a few minutes, they were heavy and dry and just a few minutes would make all the difference….

His eyes flew open with a bone jarring, full body jerk, and he gasped before he remembered—it was all okay now. The sun was setting, throwing shadows tall on the opposite wall and someone had lit a tiny lamp on the room’s desk, just strong enough to function as a night light—probably some left over from Clark’s baby days. 

He swung his legs around and the second his heels hit the floor, he groaned. He was stiff and sore, felt like he’d been beat in his sleep, and his skin burned in places like fire. 

He fished his kit out from the pile on the floor and trudged slowly to the bathroom, an occasional hiss escaping him when he bumped something on the way. He blinked and yawned, rubbed his gummy eyes and noticed the shadow blocking the bathroom door way was Clark. He was grinning from ear to ear and looking…shiny, Lex thought. That’s a perfect word for Clark. Shiny.

“Lex!” He bounced forward. “Are you taking a shower? Taking a bath? Brushing your teeth—” He stopped abruptly and blushed. “Geez, I’m sorry. Um, we ate already, Mom wouldn’t let us wake you up—um—but she fixed you a plate.” He edged away from Lex. “I’m talking too much.”

Lex smiled. “Thanks Clark. Would you tell Aunt Martha I’ll be down in a minute, please?” He held up a towel. “Shower,” he said. Clark blushed bright red and nearly ran for the stairs.

Lex chuckled as he shut the door behind him. He pulled off socks and pants and dropped his shirt on top and shoved the whole pile against a wall. He barely waited for the water to warm before hopping in the shower; ground his teeth when the water woke up abused nerve endings and made his back feel like it was covered in flame. The pain subsided as the water ran warmer and warmer and his muscles unkinked. With his body’s stiffness slowly easing came a fracture in his self-control, tears flowed. Best time to cry, in the shower, one part of his mind calmly noted while the rest of him broke and sobbed. He pushed the palm of his hand hard against his mouth; let his body shake as he fought to keep quiet and get the aching misery out at the same time.

By the time he was out of the shower, clean, dry and calm again, he was more than ready for dinner. He felt as if days had passed since he’d last eaten and the thought of Aunt Martha’s fried chicken and green beans actually made his stomach rumble. He hurried downstairs to the kitchen and was relieved, disappointed, that no one but his Aunt was in the kitchen. 

His plate was waiting for him at his place. Aunt Martha was in her seat, swirling a tall glass of iced-tea in her hands. “Lex,” she smiled and set her glass down, held out a hand to him and he came to get his kiss. Warm dry lips touched his temple lightly, so very soft hands held him against her cheek and his hard won control nearly cracked again. 

“Sit. Eat. All of it and no excuses, you hear?” 

He nodded and smiled, not trusting himself to speak. He dropped into the chair. God, she didn’t even need to tell him to clear his plate, he was so hungry that the sight and smell of food made his mouth flood. He ate steadily, silently, gratefully, for a minute or two, completely content and then Aunt Martha spoke.

“Your dad called right after he sent you on your way.”

He hesitated and then continued, chewing thoroughly and thoughtfully before swallowing. He said, “Yes?”

“He told us everything.” She sighed, and a world of worry was in the sound. “Everything.”

Lex put his fork down carefully and wiped his lips and hands before folding the napkin into a tight triangle. He stared into his plate and said, “I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “Lex, ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t begin to cut it. What you did was so wrong…I know I don’t have to spell it out for you.” She shook her head. “I am disappointed in your actions, Lex. Your mother would be disappointed.”

Lex felt sick. “I know. I know that, don’t…it was easy and nothing bad happened so it was easy to do it again and…I wasn’t thinking.”

“Jonathan and I have always thought of you as one of ours. What you did hurts just as much as if it’d been Clark or Bruce. We...we just can’t understand why you would involve yourself in that kind of mess. Your father went to great lengths to describe what you did; he left nothing to the imagination.”

He could feel the blood rush from his face; cold fingers clenched in his chest and choked him. “Aunt Martha, I…did he tell you about…the party, the guy…?” His voice trailed off into a strained whisper. 

“Like I said, your father told us everything. I suppose he thought we should be aware of what happened,” but the twist of her lip said she doubted that was Lionel's reason at all.

Something ignited in him and he jerked his head up to meet her eyes. “I’m not ashamed of him, that boy. Harry loves me.”

She winched and sat back in her chair. “You aren’t allowed to have contact with him—the boy’s father’s orders, as well as your father’s.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter. We’re in love. Nothing can change that.” He stood. “I can leave if you want me to, Aunt Martha, I can go back to Metropolis.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near that—that-- I wish I could—” her lips pressed in a thin angry line. She shook her head. “Now let me tell you what is going to happen, Lex. You’re going to watch your step; you’re going to follow our rules, you’re to obey me without question. You’re about to live the life of a…a…monk! Got it?”

“I’ve got it,” is what Lex said. I’m a dead man, is what he thought.  
Martha went on, “I don’t care about the boy—I mean, I don’t care that it is a boy. But I care if you hurt yourself or others and think it’s love. People do horrible things to each other all the time in the name of love, Lex…do you understand me?”

He tried really hard to speak, to tell her yes, but in the end could only manage a weak nod. She had no idea how completely right she was.

She huffed a little and stood. The talk was over. “Finish your dinner Lex. Bruce is waiting for you out in the loft. I guess he wants you guys to sleep out there tonight.”

She stopped and hugged him hard. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, really I am. I know how awful it feels to be in love and feel like the world is against you. I hope that…that everything works out for the two of you.”

Lex was almost dizzy with relief. At least Aunt Martha was still on his side. Out of everything she said, the fact that she cared shone like a beacon. She understood him. It was amazing, incredible—and she even seemed to forgive him for fucking up spectacularly. Not like his dad. God—he’d really thought the man was going to kill him, he seriously did. He’d never been so scared in all his life. His eyes prickled with tears he didn’t dare shed now. Aunt Martha still loved him; so he was pretty sure that meant Uncle Jon at least didn’t hate him. Now he’d have to talk to Bruce. Maybe Clark as well.


	10. Chapter 10

1  
"So what should I do? Don’t you think I should talk to him, tell him how I feel?" Clark was on his back on the bed, his legs leaning against the wall and his head hanging over the edge of the bed. "He’s going to be here for the whole summer. Come on Whit, help me out!" 

"Clark, he’s not going to be your, your—whatever, boyfriend or whatnot. He’s too old—don’t you know that the law says Lex could go to jail for just touching you? He’s eighteen—"

"So--"

"Clark! Don’t be dense. You know what I’m telling you. It’s dangerous and wrong and if he takes you up on it, that makes him a bad person."

"He could never be a bad person! Besides, in a few weeks I’ll be a teenager too, I’ll be old enough. I might be older than that—my parents just guessed when they—"

"Clark! For crying out loud, shut up!" Whit sounded angry, worried and Clark felt guilty. Whitney was right, he knew better than to talk about his ‘adoption’. Telling Whitney the truth had been the best thing he’d ever done—at least, for himself. Clark knew how heavy a burden it could be, no matter how strong his friend was.

"Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I got carried away. But really, don’t you think it makes a difference, Whit?"

"Why don’t you come over, I think we need to talk face to face about this."

"You just want me to be in smacking range." He grinned as Whitney laughed. "All right—give me a few minutes to get there." 

Clark shoved his pillows into the bed and artistically arranged them so it looked like he was under them. He considered the pile…perfect. If it was pitch black and his parents suddenly got struck blind, it should pass.

He grabbed his favorite jacket; a red cloth windbreaker that looked like the one his hero wore in Rebel Without A Cause. He’d just discovered James Dean, and not only had he been a great actor, he’d been so good-looking that it made Clark's insides shiver. Mom and Pop thought it was funny that he thought James Dean was cool; they probably wouldn’t think it was so funny if they knew he thought he was almost as sexy as Lex.

He laced up his tennis shoes quickly and ran lightly and quietly out to the yard. After a quick glance around he took off, not at top speed, but fast enough that he was down the driveway and on the road in seconds. There, with a big grin, he let loose and ran as fast as he could—he timed himself. 

He was at Whitney’s house bare minutes after he spoke to him. Whitney let him in the back door. "Seven minutes, getting faster," Clark beamed.

Whitney smiled back, just as pleased as Clark. "Yep, I timed it, too."

They zipped up to Whitney’s room and Whitney tossed him a chocolate frosted cookie in a clear plastic bag. Whitney grinned at him, and Clark knew he had another reason to want him there. No guesses what it was about…Clark managed not to roll his eyes.

"Clark—guess what? Guess who’s going to the movies tomorrow night with Lana?"

"I don’t know," Clark answered and tried not to laugh. "Who?" He stuffed his mouth with a big bite of cookie and waited. 

"Screw you, Kent," Whitney snarled and threw a sneaker at him.

Clark laughed and apologized. "No, really, that’s great. She seems like a great person, Whitney. I like her a lot. Good for you for asking her. _Finally."_

Whitney grinned. "Yeah. She’s pretty amazing. And that’s not what you’re here to talk about."

Clark tried to tell Whitney that he was just as happy to talk about Lana, but Whitney refused. "Clark, I just want to make sure that you don’t screw up your life and his. If you try to put pressure on him it’ll just backfire, for the both of you."

Clark frowned and crumbled the bag in his hand. "Whitney, you’re like an old fart or something. Can’t you ever just—go with it? Why do you always have to think so hard about everything?"

"Because someone’s got to look at what’s happening, right? This is not me being an old fart; it’s me telling you the truth. You’ll send him to jail if he touches you. Even if you make him, it’d be the same as if you didn’t want him to. It’s the law. Everybody knows that. And for crap’s sake, don’t talk about what you can do on the phone or to anyone but me or your family, geez."

"Oh come on! What, Russian agents are listening in on our phone calls? That’s crazy, Whit—"

Whitney frowned at Clark, "Don’t take chances. For once in your life, listen to me." 

"All right, I won’t talk about it on the phone anymore. Except to you, okay?"

"And Lex—promise to put that out of your head? "

Clark nodded."Sure."

"Say. How about you come to the movies with Lana and me, you won’t be a third wheel, she has a friend that just moved into town, a cute little blonde…"

Clark gave Whitney a tired look. "Unless her friend is a boy, I don’t think so."

Whitney opened his mouth and then shut it with a firm nod. "Right." Clark knew what he wanted; it was pointless to waste his breath when it was such an obvious waste of time. 

They talked on about Lana, and Lex, and Whitney tried to tell him again that Bruce was interested in Lex too. Clark got angry, as usual, and Whitney asked himself, as usual, why the heck couldn’t people see what was right in front of them and plain as day. It just wasn’t that much of a secret. Clark must be working hard _not_ to see it, and it worried Whitney. He didn’t want to see Clark get hurt. 

Damn. Everything would be a lot simpler if Clark _could_ get interested in the little blonde.

They both fell asleep on the floor, and before daybreak Clark sped home; he was asleep in bed when Mom opened his door the next morning.

BWLLCK

1  
Over breakfast, in between inhaling massive bites of pancakes and sausage and hash browns, Bruce asked Lex if he wanted to help with a project he had on his mind. "Ma said I could fix up the loft, do you want to help?"  
With the whole summer spreading before them, Lex thought it was a great idea. "Sure. Sounds like fun."   
"Great. I’ve got some posters and we can get some paint and stuff…" Bruce noticed that Clark was staring at them, longing in every line of his face. 

"Want to help, Clark? We can use all the help we can get, and I happen to know that you’re a good man with a paintbrush," Bruce asked, and that got him a smile from Lex.

Clark shook his head. "I can’t today," he said, staring at Lex. "Whitney and I are going to the movies with his girlfriend—and a friend of hers. A girl," he said and watched for Lex’s reaction. "A date."

"Wow, Clark has a date, or a maybe a girlfriend…?" Lex smiled indulgently.

"Yeah,"Clark snapped and pushed back from the table. "Just like you. And Bruce." He stomped off and Bruce looked after him openmouthed. What the hell just happened? Bruce looked at Lex and shrugged and Lex looked after Clark, a curious expression on his face. 

Bruce began to clear the plates away. "Wanna go down town after we take care of the kitchen, look at the paint and stuff?"

"Okay…and as long as we’re going down town, I have a favor to ask you…."

2  
They were outside the pharmacy at a phone booth and Lex thrust a handful of coins at Bruce. "Here. Tell them you’re a friend from school…" Lex racked his brain. "Um…tell them you’re Wallace Drake, he's dweeb enough to get pass Harry's parents…"

Bruce frowned and started loading coins into the phone. "Give me the damn number." Why was Lex going through all this trouble for just a friend? ‘Cause of course he wasn’t _just_ a friend. Jealously lanced through his middle but it was Lex and Bruce had to do it for him. 

 

When he got past the parents and was talking to Harry, he stumbled over his words, and felt like a…a dweeb. "Hell—hello, I’m—"

"I know, you have to be a friend of Lex’s—Drake would never call me. Can I speak to him, please?"

Bruce wasn’t sure what he expected but the soft voice on the other end wasn’t it. He didn’t sound like the crazy punk that Lex described. He sounded kind of…sweet. Bruce flung open the door and jammed the phone into Lex’s chest. He sat on the concrete tire barrier and stared out across the parking lot and tried hard not to eavesdrop.

He could hear a steady mumble of conversation from the booth and then silence. He looked back and Lex was holding the phone against his cheek and shaking his head, tears rolling down his face, He jumped up, reached for the door handle and heard Lex say, "I do love you."

3  
Lex looked through the cloudy glass at Bruce’s back and Harry’s voice poured into his ear like honey, warm and thick and slow. His skin shivered from want of touching him, it was hot in the booth, and he was still cold. He needed to be held. "Harry…"

"I know."

They spoke a bit, quickly, time was short and he couldn’t tell him how much he wanted to see his face, kiss him and feel his mouth warm on him, he missed his smell, his taste—

Right before they had to hang up. Harry asked, "Was that Bruce on the phone, your cousin?" 

"Yes. He’s a good guy; I didn’t have to promise him much to do this." Lex chuckled.

"You’ll forget me soon," Harry told him. "They’ll make you forget—they won’t try, it’ll just happen."

"Hell no, it won’t—why would you say that? Don’t waste our time getting jealous." He crammed another dime in the slot and hoped he wouldn’t need more. Harry was talking.

"I’ll be going to school in England next year. No more phone calls, Lex. No more contact, and I’ll fade away and then Bruce will be there and then…poor Bruce, someday Clark will be old enough…"

"What the _fuck_ Harold, are you _high?_ Listen to me—I love you," Lex shifted the phone so it was closer to his mouth. "Please don’t—"

"It’s terrible to be totally in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. Lex."  
"God, Harry, I tell you—told you all the time, you know how feel about you."

"Sure, but not like… _Love_ love, you know…oh well, it really doesn’t matter."

Lex was shaking his head, and his eyes stung with tears. Why was Harry saying this now, why was he doing this?

"I’ll never stop loving you Lex. No matter what."  
"I do love you, Harry, I do." But there was nothing on the line but the dial tone, droning on and on in his ear and then Bruce was yanking the door open.

"Lex, what the fuck is wrong?"

"Bruce—oh shit, Bruce." Lex scrubbed the heel of his hand hard across his eyes. "He’s not just my friend. Harry’s more. He’s…really important to me."

Bruce stared, and his mouth opened and he heard, "Vic is not your girlfriend? You’re queer?" fall out of his mouth like nuggets of stupid, He made a move with his hands; the desire to grab back the idiotic words was that strong. Bruce couldn’t stop staring at Lex. "When…when did you _know?"_  
They were walking along the road out of town, shopping forgotten, sun beating down on their backs and soaking through their tee shirts. Lex had a ball cap on, courtesy of Martha’s desire to keep him from burning. It proudly proclaimed Kent Seeds, courtesy of Jon’s desire to get lots of use out to the hundred or so hats he’d ordered for his employees. He didn’t answer Bruce right away, took the hat off and wiped his forehead.

"Well… the first time I had sex with Vic I knew. Every time after that. The first time Harry kissed me, it was better than anything that Vic and I ever did--that was more like my real first time."

Bruce felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. What if he’d tried to—if he’d let himself touch Lex, what could have happened? "What about when you were a kid, did you know then?"

Lex shook his head. "Not really, I had odd thoughts from time to time…" he blushed and stopped. "I just thought I was a late bloomer."

Bruce said, "Well you know I’ve been with Serena a lot—was anyway—and someone else."

Lex looked over. "Yeah?" They trudged along a bit and when Bruce didn’t speak, Lex said, "Who? Someone I know?"

Bruce shook his head. "You know the martial arts class I’m taking?" 

"Yeah—holy shit, not the teacher?"

"NO!" Bruce shook his head violently. "No! Geez, Mac wouldn’t—he isn’t—he’s old enough to be my father! He’s like a father. It’s a kid in the class. Sean."

"Sean…the kid you double date with?" He grinned at Bruce. "Kinky. But I could tell you stories."

"Yeah, well, it’s not love, not by a long shot. We just get together from time to time…I like him fine but…" he shrugged and grinned a little. "You know."

Lex nodded. "Oh yeah. What about Serena, more than that or just a friend?"

Bruce grimaced. "Serena is Serena; she does what she wants when she wants. I don’t bother her and she calls when she wants. Is it like that with Victoria?"

"No, Vic’s a bitch, she’s self-centered and I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, but she’s fun and she loves me and I can’t help but love her back." He laughed, "And in a way, she made it possible for me and Harry to be together."

They walked on and Bruce said, "Tell me about Harry?"

Lex’s expression softened a bit. "Okay," he said with a shy smile. "One night, at a school dance, this big blonde asshole thought he’d embarrass me in front of the whole school…."

4  
The two of them wandered kind of aimlessly in a homeward way. Neither of them was in any hurry to get back and Lex had moved beyond the part where Harry had gone from thorn in his side to treasure, and they were talking now about Lex’s trouble in particular. 

"So, you were at a party in a hotel room, with a shitload of drugs and booze, and crazy sex going on, you got caught in the hall with your pants down and Harry—and your dad got you out of it? Scott-free? That’s kind of a fucking miracle isn’t it?" Bruce asked. "Man, Pop would have killed me…" 

Lex’s reached out and grabbed Bruce hard by the wrist."No, it wasn’t a fucking miracle, it was bribes and threats and more pain then you can possibly imagine," Lex said and Bruce looked at him, startled and a little scared at Lex’s intensity.

"Lex. What happened after the cops brought you home?"

Lex shook his head. "It’s—it’s not important, and I’m not going to talk about it. It’s all over now."

They stopped to cool off in the shade of the trees on the side of the road. Bruce hesitated, and spoke again. "Once, a few summers ago, Clark—it was Clark’s birthday and he went to the lake with his buddies—anyway, he almost drowned, remember?"

"Yeah, fuck, I do. That scared me."

Bruce hung his head. "Yeah. I was off getting high with some friends of mine, shit, they weren’t even friends—I just wanted to fit in—I almost killed my brother because of stupid _shit."_

Lex fixed his eyes on him and Bruce could practically feel the weight of the look. "Yeah, it was fucking stupid of you to leave Clark on his own then."

"Wow, thanks, I feel better now." 

"You shouldn’t—you screwed up. Just like I screwed up. You’re lucky that in the end, Clark was okay—I’m not sure my screw up isn’t going to backfire horribly on me. Vic is probably not coming back from overseas for ages and now Harry’s going too and…whew." He stopped and rubbed his forehead before walking on.

Bruce walked behind him, a little reluctant to catch up to him and get that look again. He watched Lex, the way he moved, the way he swung his arms and stepped like he owned the world—how did Lex do that, Bruce wondered, how did you cover all that hurt and uncertainty like that? ‘I love you, he thought. But I don’t know how to say it. Would it matter at all?’

Suddenly Lex spoke and Bruce stumbled, startled out of his well of self-pity. "I miss him Bruce. I miss him so damn much. Fucking world. You have no idea how horrible it is."

Yes I do, Bruce thought. Yes I do.

BWLLCK

1  
A few days later, Lex decided he would—should— tell Clark as well. He had the feeling that living with this secret was going to be hard enough; he didn’t have the strength to lie to his family too. Aunt Martha knew, and he was fairly certain Uncle Jon knew, if the manly bonding-type shoulder pats meant anything. Bruce knew and he felt it was only fair that Clark knew too. He was sure he could explain the concept of homosexuality to him, certain too that Clark could still love him even if he didn’t understand.

 

2  
"Listen, Clark, I want to tell you something and promise me you won’t freak until I’m done?"

"Okay, I won’t." they were sitting in the cool shadowed interior of the barn, Clark was sitting on one of the lower steps that led to the loft, Lex crouched down and looked up at him so seriously. He looked so handsome, so sexy—James Dean sexy, bet his eyes were the same color. If he bent forward just an inch or so, he could reach out and touch that little scar on Lex's upper lip, Clark thought, and a pleasant tingle tickled him inside. Lex swallowed and seemed like he was having trouble speaking. Clark was really puzzled. What the heck did he want, and then it hit him—could Lex want to talk to him about—liking him? Was that why he was so nervous? His heart swelled painfully, so full of hope, anticipation, that he felt like it was about to burst—Lex went on. "Clark, I’m in love with someone."

Clark heart skipped. _Love? Me?_ Love….  
Oh. No. Like a flower unfolding, the truth opened in layers in his mind. What Lex had to say had nothing to do with him. Would never have anything to do with Clark, Lex was in love with Victoria. Clark meant less than nothing.

Clark breathed in and out and let the hurt steady him. "I didn’t know that you and Victoria. That much. Cared." His face burned, and he wanted to shrink inside himself.

Lex looked surprised. "Vic? Oh, no, not Vic." A smile flitted over his lips and disappeared like ripples in a pond. He went on. "Not Vic, it’s my other friend. I love him." He paused and sighed, said, "I’m in love with Harry.

Clark felt a roaring in his head. "Your friend? Harry?" 

"I know it sounds strange, weird. But it’s love."

Clark shook his head. "Stop saying that—you can’t love him. You don’t mean that."

"Clark, it’s true, men can care about each other like that. They do care about each other like that sometimes. Are you upset? You think it’s wrong?"

"No!" Clark yelled and pushed Lex over. He jumped to his feet, a storm of emotion darkening his face. "No," he said in a softer tone. "I don’t think it’s wrong."

Lex looked up from the floorboards at Clark in shock and Clark blushed. "It’s just, well, just." He shrugged and reached down to pull Lex back up. "So…" Clark asked and felt like he was cracking into a million pieces inside. "How can you be sure you love him?" 

"He makes me feel happy. When I’m with him it’s better."

Clark screamed inside, _I can make it better for you, I can,_ but he was Bruce’s little brother, that’s all, all he would ever be, a stupid little kid in love with someone as far out of his reach as dead James Dean. Forever right in front of him and a million, million miles away.

BWLLCK

1  
Lex noticed that Clark was quieter around him after their talk, definitely a little reserved but he’d expected as much, he was just grateful that he didn’t turn away from him completely. 

His reaction had been…bad, but not as bad as it could have been; Clark was a surprisingly mature and understanding kid, thank God.

He smiled when he saw Lex, but there were no more surprise flying hugs, no more questions and "guess what Pete said, guess what Whitney said" and no more sitting on his bed and eating cereal on the sly. He didn’t meet his eyes when speaking to him now and Lex never knew how wounding that could be.

Clark still stopped and said good night before bed, like he did with everyone in the family. That at least gave him hope that this would eventually pass and they’d be as close as before again. It hurt, this dimming of their relationship. A lot more than he’d expected it would, and the thought that they might never heal this rift….

On the other hand, it was probably a blessing in disguise. Lex felt awful but more and more it was getting harder for him to see Clark as a little kid. He was kind of…beautiful. He found it hard not to stare at Clark when the afternoon sun turned him gold, like honey poured over him and dripping bright beads from every part of him—sometimes his tongue ached just wanting to touch—

Sunlight seemed to love Clark as much as Clark loved the sun. When he turned his face up to the sky, eyes closed and his nose wrinkled, laughing into the glow, it looked like he was being stroked by a lover’s hand. Thoughts like that made him cringe inside, and pray it didn’t show. God, he loved Harry, without a doubt, he loved him so much but this thing he was starting to feel for Clark felt older than that, felt like it’d been hiding under his skin forever just waiting to be born.

And that was the fucking worse part. It felt beyond right and it was wrong, so fucking wrong and Lex needed to concentrate on Harry and how he could get in touch with him again—  
Maybe he could get Bruce to help.

2  
 _Lex always remembered those months—from the moment he met Vic, until the moment he thought he’d lost everything—as the time that his life really changed, more than the death of his mother, more than the flaming wreckage of his relationship with his father—  
And then in a single moment, everything changed. From that one point on it seemed his life drifted steadily downward. _

 

3  
He got a letter from Vic a month into the summer. It was a pleasant surprise, and something to be enjoyed, so he got a glass of lemonade and snagged a sandwich from Aunt Martha before heading out to the porch to read it. In the distance he could see a tiny crouching figure near the test beds by the green houses. Clark probably, doing something mysterious and Clark-like no doubt. He chuckled and the boy’s head came up, as though he’d heard him. For one moment he was sure of it, before common sense took over. Clark might be incredibly strong and fast and heal even faster than he did, but he couldn’t have…super hearing. That was just a little too science fiction-y, even for him. Lex snorted and settled in to the porch swing and prepared himself for some of Vic’s typically skewed views on life. Always fascinating, that’s what Vic’s letters were, sometimes disconcerting but certainly never ever boring. He slit open the expensive envelope, a whiff of perfume floated out as he opened the single sheet of folded paper. He was mildly surprised by that, she tended to write page after page…she could go on for pages and pages in absolute ecstasy over a pair of shoes….

_Dear Lex,  
I’m in Italy with my mother and Richard, part of the tiresome whirlwind "Let’s Keep Victoria’s Pants Up European Tour." Wonder what will happen first, Pat getting sick of me, or them running out of countries? In the meantime, I’m not allowed to meet with or talk to any of my friends. Such assholes! (laughing)_

_Oh well. Give them a month or two and they’ll be frantic to get rid of me. (raspberries) Pat did take time out from shopping to tell me some news, something she heard from a friend of a friend of the Washburns. If it were at all possible, I’d call instead of telling you this way. It’s lousy news to give you in a letter. Harry killed himself. I’m so very sorry. I know you cared for him.  
Really sorry.   
Vic_

 

Lex let the letter drop from his fingers. "Harry’s dead?" It wasn’t possible. "He’s not dead…" There was no way Harry could be dead. He was tough and brave, he’d been through worse than this, they both had. Harry wasn’t a crybaby, he didn’t knuckle under, he didn’t give up. He’d never do anything like that; Harry was a survivor, just like he was. 

She was lying.

Lex got up and walked over to the porch rail, seeing nothing at all.

Lying. 

Harry was alive, in Connecticut, waiting for his parents to relent, to let him go so he could come to him. He leaned his head against one of the porch posts, swinging one foot in time to a song that was stuck in his head and wouldn’t come out. 

He was beginning to drift a little; it was warm and quiet, the distant drone of bees almost hypnotic, soothing…he closed his eyes and everything disappeared in a haze of red and he waited to slow down…. 

"Lex," Aunt Martha called. "Phone for you." He jumped. Where had he been for the last few minutes?

He roused himself, unkinked his neck and strolled into the kitchen, feeling muzzy and disconnected.

"It’s your father…do you want to…" she held the phone out a little, her eyebrow cocked in question and he nodded yes.

He took the phone and heard his father’s voice; bright, cheerful and ready to slice into him like a clean, new, scalpel. 

"Lex. I’m afraid I have very sad news, son—"Lex stood frozen, unfeeling as a stone throughout his dad’s description, at length and with relish, of the details of Harry’s death. 

He had no memory of hanging up, but the phone was on its hook on the wall and Aunt Martha was looking at him strangely. He shrugged. "Dad. You know how he can be when he’s in a mood," and he walked up the stairs to his room. 

Inside, he sat on his bed and closed his eyes.

He cried—it felt like forever—as quietly as he could into his pillow. Harry didn’t deserve that, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to die. He shouldn’t have felt like that was his only way out—he shouldn’t have left him alone. Lex was shaking like he had a fever, he felt too hot and a little sick. He was almost grateful when he heard his door open, the hinges squeaked once and footsteps pattered across the room. The bed sank under a weight and he expected Aunt Martha to ask him what was wrong….

Clark said, "Scoot over, don’t say anything, just scoot over" and Lex did. 

Clark climbed into the bed behind him, wrapped his arms around Lex, pulled him tight against his chest. Lex was furiously embarrassed when he broke into tears again, he was choking and Clark was rocking him, wrapped around him, arms, legs, head pressed to his back and telling Lex over and over, "I know, I know, I know."

Lex groaned, "This is it. I swear to god, I’m never ever going to cry again. Never." 

"That’s stupid, Lex, when you’re sad, you just have to. You can’t not cry. Your...your…Harry is gone and you have to mourn for that." 

"Clark, I’m sorry." Lex had no idea why he was apologizing to Clark, in his head it felt like he was apologizing to Harry. Clark felt like a warm blanket around him, he was so cold that Clark felt hotter than normal. It felt good and Lex felt horrible for enjoying anything about this life. 

A knock at the door brought Aunt Martha in, carrying a tray holding a bowl of soup, as well as few crackers and a tall glass of juice. "Lex, do you mind if I come in?"

"’Course not Aunt Martha please come in," he mumbled, stringing the words together. He was a little worried that she might not like Clark lying in bed with him and hated himself for even thinking that way. 

In fact, she seemed not to notice that Clark was wrapped around him like a shawl. She set the tray on the nightstand, pulled the blanket folded at the end of his bed up over their legs and pulled the curtains to, making the room comfortably dim. Clark rolled him back from the edge of the bed, settled him against his chest again and Martha sat. She laid her soft cool hand on his too hot head. "I know what happened, sweetie. I’m so, so sorry for you. I wish I could say something to make this easier. Don’t be afraid to let it out, we all understand." He doubted that, but he nodded, his eyes gritty and dry and knowing he was done. Crying just made it worse and made him feel like—

He heard Martha from a million miles away. "Stay with him Clark, and get me if he needs me, even if I’m in bed, okay?"

"Yes, Mom." 

He could feel him say it, a rumble that rolled against his back. Clark was going to be a very serious man when he grew up, he thought, an odd kind of thought that tumbled through his brain before falling away into the cottony dark.

4  
Bruce was washed and dressed and heading for the stairs, more or less ready to start the day, when he saw Clark come walking out of Lex’s room, hair sleep-matted and yawning wide, his flannel PJ bottoms twisted around his waist and legs. Bruce looked harder—those were his darn pajama bottoms, the thief!

"Clark!"

Clark looked his way; obviously still a little out of it. "Hunh? Wha?" He yawned again and scratched heartily at his ribs, rucking his tee-shirt this way and that 

"What were you doing in Lex’s room? Where you in there all night?" Ma told him what had happened but even though he felt terrible for Lex, Harry was an abstract. Of course Harry's death was a bad thing—but Bruce didn’t _know_ it was a bad thing. He felt guilty that he didn’t share Lex’s sorrow—and a little angry that Clark had reached out first.

"Lex is in trouble, he’s messed up. I just tied to help. Someone needed to be there with him."

Bruce stared at Clark and felt the warmth of a blush on his cheeks, anger. This kid was trying to tell him he’d failed Lex? That wasn’t true. So what, Clark had been there last night…it didn’t matter, Bruce decided. He’d helped Lex through plenty; Lex knew he could count on him, better than some little kid who barely knew…oh.

Bruce realized he was jealous of his little brother. Geez—he felt like the world’s biggest creep. But…he was still jealous, still a little angry, and maybe a little guilty.

Clark’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him, and Bruce had the feeling something just woke up in Clark, something not good. He changed the subject quickly. "Hey squirt, let’s get breakfast, okay? I can make you pancakes if you want."

Clark’s face brightened instantly and Bruce was relieved. The look of suspicion was gone. Clark looked at him like he was the best thing since sliced cheese and this look Bruce knew well. "Come on, kid. You can crack the eggs if you promise not to crush them and I’ll do the rest."

Clark blushed a little and looked like he was trying to hide how pleased he was. "Come on Bruce, stop treating me like a little kid—I’m a teenager now, you remember?"

"Yes, Clark for god’s sake I remember—how could I not, you haven’t let anyone forget since you turned thirteen. How do your friends stand it? Pete’s about to kill you. He told me so," Bruce went on with an air of conspiracy. "But don’t worry, when he does, I promise I’ll avenge you."

Clark laughed out loud, and tossed a quick guilty look at Lex’s door.

Bruce slung an arm around Clark’s shoulders and steered him away from the door. "Come on; let’s make pancakes for everyone." Clark grinned at him. They were eye to eye, Bruce thought. Damn…him and Clark. Eye to eye.

Bruce's little brother wasn’t so little any more. He was growing up, growing into a man…someday, Bruce told himself. For now at least, Clark was still just a kid.

BWLLCK

1  
It was a Saturday afternoon; Ma and Pop were in town, enjoying their day off. Clark was getting ready to head over to Pete’s and Lex was nagging Bruce to get started in the barn. 

"Since when has this become your project, can you tell me that?" Bruce complained, dragging a ladder up the stairs to the loft. Lex followed him with a pail full of brushes hanging from one hand and a paint bucket hanging from the other.

"When we found out I have much better taste than you—blue, red, and yellow, my god. What a fucking nightmare that would have been—and hurry, this shit is heavy."

Bruce tossed him a look and tried to hurry along, maneuvered the ladder around the first landing on the stair. "Clark liked the colors…"

"Clark is thirteen, Bruce. We’re not, " Lex replied and squeezed past him. 

"Yeah," he muttered low enough so that Lex couldn’t possibly hear him. "I hope you remember that." He huffed and willed the edge of dark mood away. He finally got the ladder up the stair and began to set it up. 

Lex was staring thoughtfully at the wall over the stairs. "I don’t think we need to paint all the walls."

Bruce agreed enthusiastically. He might be into the whole fix up thing, but still, the less work the better.

"Like the wall over the stairs, we can just hang your posters there, it’ll look great."

Bruce nodded, whatever Lex thought was good probably was. Even if he had turned down his next suggestion of black, gray and yellow. A perfectly good ‘palette’ of colors. And why the hell did he know and care about words like palette? He didn’t used to know them. Bruce watched Lex looking around the loft, hands on his hips and lips slightly pursed, brows angled together. Jesus, if Lex thought any harder, he’d be able to hear him. 

"Lex, just a thought here, the way you’re throwing yourself into this thing—the way you’re taking over? It’s really kind of—faggoty."

Lex opened the can and stirred it with some sort of wooden stick. "Gay, Bruce, not faggot. And you should be ashamed of yourself, in light of recent confessions and all. Not to mention that’s a ridiculous stereotype." He squinted up at Bruce. "Talk like that will get you painting the place with no help at all."

Bruce just grinned. Today had been a good day. Lex was in a good mood, talkative, joking even, eager to work on the loft and that was a good thing. 

He was spending less time alone in his room and that was a good thing too. Bruce’s mood wavered again—Lex was also spending a lot of time hanging out with Clark, and that wasn’t such a good thing, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t understand why Lex couldn’t see that it was a bad idea; Clark was head over heels for him. Hell, even the folks could see it. He’d seen them looking at Clark _that_ way, a kind of worried, a little concerned, a little puzzled look they got sometimes watching Clark. Clark was an open book, poor kid. 

Bruce headed for the brushes, listening to Lex with half a mind, mostly just letting the soft sound of his voice wash over him and wondering why Lex didn’t see it when everyone else did?

Bruce swished the brushes in a pail of clean water and laid them on a rag to drain. Lex called Bruce over to where he stood near the head of the stairs. 

"Hold the ladder while I put these up, okay?" He climbed the ladder with a hammer in his hand and a pocket full of tacks. "Hand me the posters when I tell you. And let me know if they look okay—or is that too difficult a job for you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Bruce laughed. 

He was leaning his weight against the ladder to steady it, vague thoughts of judo class,   
Sean and what might be for dinner drifted through his mind, the rhythmic sound of the hammer as Lex drove in tacks and his soft drone narrating what he was doing worked to lull Bruce into a comfortably relaxed state, his head was just starting to dip a little forward when he heard a sound that made him think of something small breaking. 

He turned his head to the sound. Clark was standing at the first landing staring up, looking wounded and suddenly the comfortable zone Bruce had been in disappeared. He became too aware his cheek was nearly pressed against Lex’s ass, and it was warm with Lex’s heat, his nose was filled with the smell of clean washed denim and he saw with weird clarity Clark’s eyes, black and shattered. Looking at it from Clark’s point of view, considering what he felt for Lex, Bruce realized his position might look less than innocent.

Something wrong and dark at the very bottom of his soul woke for an instant and stretched—Bruce smiled at Clark and turned his head slowly so that his mouth nearly brushed Lex, tilted his head back to ask Clark, "What is it?"   
Even to his own ears his voice sounded different, kind of low and rough.

Clark jerked back and looked sick and Bruce—Bruce told himself he was just teasing, that was all, just playing, not trying to hurt him, he loved his brother and he really wasn’t trying to hurt him, it was a little joke—

Clark whirled and flew down the steps and Bruce heard, barely, Lex asking what was going on. "Wasn’t that Clark, hey, we need him—go tell him to come back!" Lex started to step down and Bruce moved his hands to Lex’s waist and squeezed—hard.

Lex gasped and stiffened. When Bruce felt his muscles relax again under his hands it sent a little thrill through him. 

Lex asked in a carefully casual tone, "Bruce…what’s going on?"

Bruce didn’t speak. It was as if the thing that woke in him choked him into silence. His hands slid from Lex’s waist to his thighs, then up until Bruce cupped him, rubbed lightly…another thrill raced through Bruce when Lex’s dick began to harden.

Until Lex pushed Bruce's hands away and turned awkwardly on the ladder, "What the fuck—" he tried to shove his knee into Bruce’s chest, push him away, but Bruce pushed him back and trapped him against the rungs

"Stop damn it, we’re going to fall down the stairs, stop—"  
Bruce shook his head no. Bruce knew he was stronger, that he could hold Lex there. He pressed his arm against Lex’s chest and leaned, trapping him against the ladder rungs, with the other hand he unzipped Lex and yanked his jeans down to his knees. 

Lex flailed and grasped the ladder, hissed at the rasp of the zipper scraping over sensitive skin, "You’re crazy, you’re going to—"

Bruce didn’t stop to think about what he was doing, afraid that if he did one of them would stop this, Lex would stop him. Lex cursed, gasped, when Bruce lowered his head, licked down the length of his dick, teased the head with his tongue and sucked him in when it bobbed up and struck his chin. Bruce held the warm weight in his mouth and shivered as it grew even more, lengthening and hardening in his mouth. 

Bruce watched Lex as he sucked him off—the expression of bewildered lust, shock and anger made Bruce's dick flex, every little sound Lex made, it all made him harder. He took as much of Lex as he could in his mouth until his lips brushed the smooth soft skin of Lex’s belly. He swallowed and Lex’s knees wobbled and he held onto Bruce’s shoulders so hard Bruce knew he was going to be bruised, the thought made his dick flex again and he wished he could touch himself.  
Lex moaned long and loud and thrust as much as he could against Bruce’s grip. It made it even better for Bruce, the taste, the heat and weight of Lex in his mouth, the fact he held him pinned against the ladder, helpless, barely able to move…he shuddered as all sensations came together in one perfect lance of pleasure, so pure and all-consuming it was almost painful, his dick jerked in hot spurts in his pants— Lex clawed at his shoulders, his hair, his hands locked around Bruce’s shirt collar and his body went rigid and then he was coming, flooding Bruce’s mouth and he held Lex tighter, closed his eyes and swallowed and swallowed— 

As soon as he could think again, his hold on Lex relaxed and Lex pushed against him hard, the ladder rocked and Bruce grabbed him and swung him to the floor. He stood staring at Lex, hands still locked around his waist and Lex was red faced and furious.

"That—why—you could have hurt me," he said and Bruce was stunned.

"No, I wouldn’t—it was safe, I was careful."

Lex jerked out of his grasp and dropped onto the couch. "Bruce—have you lost your mind? What in the _hell_ brought that on?" He leaned forward and dropped his head to his knees. "Harry…" his voice broke and he shuddered before drawing in a deep breath. When he looked up, his voice was steady, strong. "I felt like I was betraying him, God, every time I smile, every time I’m not thinking about him, I feel like I’m betraying him and you just, that just…"

Bruce felt something horribly painful expand in his chest, and he nodded slowly. "I’m sorry I made you feel that way, but…I’m also not sorry." He dropped his head and nearly whispered. "I’m not sorry for any of it."

Lex squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly; he was nearly in complete control again. "Well, good for you. You’re not sorry so everything’s okay now." Lex sat back and looked at him, hard. "Why did you do it?"

"I don’t…really know. It just seemed…I had a moment, a chance, and I took it. ‘Cause you’d never make a move. I had to." He sat next to Lex and when he would have moved back, grabbed his arm. "It could be good, I could make you happy."

Lex stared at Bruce for a long moment. "Bruce, there are so many things about me you don’t understand. You think you know me but you don’t. You just…you wouldn’t be able to understand. Harry and I, we understood each other. You don’t know what it’s like to lose that…."

Bruce felt that weird thing inside him move again. He had to have Lex; he needed him…"Then explain it to me. Let me show you, let me prove to you that I can help, okay? Just give me a chance."   
And really, it was only because Bruce loved Lex that much. Really.

2  
Clark stood over his bike at the end of Whitney’s driveway, shoulders shaking with sobs as he tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t walk up to the door all snotty and crying like a baby. Suddenly the screen door banged open and Whitney flew off the porch and down the drive towards him.

"I knew it," he yelled when he got closer, "I knew something was wrong." He grabbed Clark by the wrist and pulled him off his bike and back around the rear of the house.

"What’s the matter?" he asked after he pushed Clark into the tent they’d set up in the back yard. He shoved some of the junk littering the tent floor into a corner, sat back and waited for Clark to speak.

"Bruce and Lex…" he started. 

Whitney gaped. He’d never seen tears just— _shoot_ out of a person’s eyes before. 

"Oh man, Clark—I told you, I warned you."

Clark nodded, his hair falling over his eyes as he did so. "You did." he sniffled and wiped his arm across his wet face. "But I was hoping things had changed. He’s been really nice to me lately and I thought—but Bruce—Bruce is a huge creep—he’s a—a—dick!" Clark coughed and he seemed to deflate all over. "He was mean, he knew, Whitney, he knew."

Whitney sat back, stunned. "Bruce was mean to you? I mean, on purpose?" Whitney understood that desire and good intentions could collide and create painful chaos but he never imagined that Bruce would purposely cause Clark pain. Had he missed something?

"Yes! He knows and he still—he still. Did things. And Lex let him, he didn’t stop him. They had sex, Whit!"

"In front of you?" Whitney was so appalled he nearly yelled. 

"No! No…I…" Clark turned redder than Whitney had ever seen him blush before; Clark blushed so hard that sweat broke out on his cheeks. "I _listened._ And _looked"_

"Oh Clark. That was bad. You shouldn’t have." The air seemed closer; Whit swore the heat of Clark’s horror and embarrassment was so intense it filled the little tent.

"Gosh, Whit, I _know_ that! But once I could hear, it was like a car wreck, you know where you don’t want to look but you have to?"

Whitney nodded. Clark huddled in a miserable heap on the tent floor and Whitney’s heart went out to him. He rubbed his back. "I’m sorry Clark, I really am." _Damn, saw this coming. Lex isn’t going to do anything Clark wants. Poor guy. Both of them._

Clark rolled into a ball and shoved himself against Whitney’s legs, and with one huge sigh, lay still. Whitney shrugged and figured he might as well get comfortable. He grabbed a comic from under what looked like one of Pete’s tee-shirts and read it one handed as he rubbed Clark’s side and patted his head. 

"You know, Clark, if we had a fireplace and a pipe, this would be perfect. Especially if you’d play fetch too." 

Clark sighed again and said. "You need to stop reading those Jeeves books and be a little more sympathetic to me." But his tone was lighter and Whit was relieved, he’d found the right balance between sympathy and teasing and he figured Clark was going to be okay. 

Finally Clark unrolled a little, like a pillbug, Whitney thought, and snickered. "Come on, let’s go in the house and get some Popsicles, okay? And we can get the radio, and put it in the tent. Why don’t you stay over, Mom won’t mind. She likes when I’m busy."

Clark nodded, okay. "I don’t want to go home now anyway."

Whitney nodded. All those boys needed some space from each other.

 

3  
That evening they were laughing over some of the lines in their favorite TV show, and Whitney mentioned that the girl on the show was very cute. Clark didn’t reply and Whitney asked curiously, "Who do you think looks good Clark, if not her?"

Clark thought for a moment, and said, "Lots of people, but if you mean who’s sexy, that’s different."

Whitney was really curious now. He’d always known that Clark loved Lex. But that was like knowing Clark had black hair or green eyes or scarily sharp looking teeth…he’d never really thought, ‘Gee, Clark likes boys like he liked girls.' It was weird in an interesting way. 

Clark was still thinking so he asked him, "How about Robert Redford? Do you think he’s sexy?"

"Who? Red—no! He’s old! Gosh, what’s wrong with you?" 

"Well, I don’t know—my mom likes him."

Clark huffed and shook his head. "Your mom likes him…geez…"

"So tell me." Whitney couldn’t let it go now, it became a matter of extreme interest and he really wanted to know. How could he look at one of the Angels and not think _hot?_ Weird. Whit tried to imagine looking at some guy and thinking, _hot,_ but it was…strange. 

Bruce, all the girls thought Bruce was hot. He was pretty good looking, so was Lex in a way. In fact, Whitney could understand Lex a little better, he was kind of sleek, and elegant, but there was a lot of steel under that delicate look. Yeah, he got Lex.

Clark interrupted his thoughts with a little embarrassed laugh. "Okay. Remember when we went to see that American Graffiti movie, remember that?"

"Yeah, it was stupid."

"Yeah but that one guy, the hot rodder--"

"Bob Falfa, I liked him, he was cool!"

"I, um, had a crush on him. Still kinda do. And James Dean, he was an old time actor, and Don Johnson, he’s got pretty lips, oh! And there’s this new singer with crazy red hair and incredible eyes…and…" He stopped and looked at Whitney who was looking a little dazed. 

"Wow. So, you really do look at guys. Hunh. What about school? Are there guys you like in school?"

"Gosh, Whitney," Clark said and sat up on his sleeping bag. "You’re kind of making me embarrassed here. We never talked about this stuff before."

Whitney sat up too, and grabbed a box of crackers from the snowdrift of junk. He fished out a handful and tossed the box to Clark. "Before, you never came over here crying your eyes out about someone." He crammed a few crackers into his mouth.

Clark slumped a little. "Yeah. Well, yeah. I hate Bruce. He’s a mean bastard." 

He reduced the cracker to powder unheeded and Whitney reached over and brushed the powder off Clark’s sleeping bag. He shook his head, chewed on another handful of crackers and then said, "Have you ever kissed a guy?" 

"Whitney! Shut up! Geez, I can’t believe you." Clark frowned at Whitney, and Whitney smiled back until Clark heaved an enormous sigh and said, "No. Who would I kiss anyway? Have you kissed Lana?"

Whitney grinned at Clark’s attempt to turn the tables on him. "Well, yeah. A lot." There was a flashlight half under his sleeping bag and he pulled it out and shined it in Clark’s eyes. "Yeah, I kissed her," and he flicked the light back and forth, in and out of Clark’s eyes.

"Stop!" Clark jumped up and pulled it out of Whitney’s hand a little too hard and Whitney leaned away from him.

"Oh! I’m sorry, I…"

"No, no, don’t worry Clark, I’m fine." He managed not to rub his wrist, and tried to look reassuringly at Clark. "It must be hard to have to watch yourself all the time, hunh?"

Clark dropped onto the bag next to him. "Yeah. Not as much now, I hardly ever make a mistake but sometimes…you know, I don’t know if I even can kiss someone, Whit. I mean, I know you’re supposed to kind of lose control when you’re with someone—it looks like it, anyway," he said darkly.

Whitney shrugged. "I guess. It’s nice, really nice. I like the way it makes me feel but it’s not like I go nuts or anything."

"What about Lana, does she like kissing?"

"She says she does, I think so. She always blushes when I kiss her." He grinned and blushed a little himself.

Clark shook his head. "I don’t know. It might be different for me, my people. Maybe I’m supposed to like guys, maybe that’s all there are where I came from."

Whitney snorted. "I’m pretty sure that’s not the case." He laughed and said, "You know, if it were, that would mean that you could get pregnant—you had to come from somewhere, right? All boys." Whitney snorted again. "You’re weird Clark."

Clark said with a deeply serious expression, "Whitney. Have you not been paying attention? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you for how many years now."

They laughed harder than the joke warranted, groaning and wheezing and holding their sides. They lay grinning up at the sagging ceiling of the old tent. Clark propped himself up on his elbow and turned one of his high wattage smiles on Whitney. He thought that if Clark cared at all, that smile would make panties come flying at him. 

"How come you’re such a good friend to me, Whitney?’

Whitney crossed a leg over his propped up knee and bobbed his foot, playing with the flashlight again. 

"Well, everyone needs a smarter buddy to help them through life—Watson had Holmes, The Lone Ranger had Tonto, Solo had Kuryakin, Captain America had…"

"What, are you saying Falcon is smarter than Cap, ‘cause no, no way. I’ll tell you who’s stupid, Tony Stark, geez—"

"Clark, if you want to practice kissing, you can practice on me."

Clark was stunned into bewildered silence by the bizarreness of Whitney’s offer. "Wha—what?" he stammered, "are you okay?"

"I’m just saying that it would be okay." Whit thought about what he’d just said, rolling it over in his mind. Yeah, he was pretty sure he meant it. How bad could it be? But Clark looked way less than enthusiastic about the idea. As far as Whitney was concerned it was just a kiss, but he really hadn’t thought how the offer might affect Clark. He might have offended him….

Clark rolled to his stomach and looked at Whitney "Ah. That’s really nice of you to offer—I guess—but you know, don’t you, that straight boys just don’t offer to kiss their best friends generally?"

Clark was still looking kind of bewildered but at least he was grinning and Whitney had to laugh. "I just—I don’t know—it’s just a kiss and I just kind of. Felt sorry for you. I’m sorry!" he said quickly when Clark growled. "But have you ever thought about it?"

"I never thought about kissing you. Ever. No offense."

Whit laughed and asked him, "Well, what about Pete? Ever thought about him?" What the hell was wrong with him tonight? It was just one stupid thing after another falling out of his mouth, he even felt kind of giddy with the stupidity…lucky for him, Clark was a patient guy.

"Well, Pete does have that smooth quality going for him, that sex magnet thing," Clark said in a mock serious tone. "If I could fight my way through the girls he’s always knee deep in…"

Whit laughed, "So he says." His forehead furrowed. "Actually, he really does get lots and lots of dates…but that’s not important. I have my girl." _My girl. I love my girl. I guess I am the lucky one here._

Clark smiled a little. "Whit—you see everyone but yourself, don’t you? Tell me what you think is going to happen with Asshole and Lex," he asked, very kindly trying to change the subject 

Whit exhaled slowly, kind of grateful to get off the Stupid Train. "Yeah, Clark…I told you before that Bruce and Lex were a possibility. But they’re a bad fit." He frowned, eyes focused on some distant point as he tried to really _see_ the possibilities. "It could be pretty good for the both of them…or, it could be terrible." 

Clark huffed impatiently. "Oh gee, thanks, Whitney. That is just so informative, that is. It could be good…" Clark paused dramatically and went on in a deep, dramatic voice, "or…baaad. Madame Za-Za, your crystal ball is cloudy."

Whitney waved him quiet. "Seriously terrible for everyone involved. It’s like there’s something after Bruce, he’s managed to avoid it so far, thanks to you guys—but it’s going to catch up with him, real soon."  
Whitney stopped, so Clark asked, "And then what?" 

"Then everything changes." Whit shrugged. "Bruce needs a keeper, or a couple of slaps with a heavy brick. Anyway, be patient Clark. You’re going to come out on top." 

_Somehow, Clark’s going to walk away from this in one piece, more or less. And that’s the scary part._ Whitney managed to suppress a shiver.

 

Clark looked a little awed and pleased, and Whitney huffed in annoyance. He’d explained to Clark over and over this thing he did wasn’t any kind of third eye or ESP crap. In fact those psychic fakers did the same thing he did--if you had enough information and you really looked carefully at what was happening, all you had to do was put two and two together and get four. No big deal. You just had to pay attention. And then you had to keep your mouth shut.


	11. Chapter 11

1  
"Hey, Clark, you want to go to the lake with me?"

Clark looked at Bruce suspiciously."Just you and me?"

"Yeah, why not—I mean, if you want, Pete and Whit can come."

"No," Clark interrupted sharply."You and me’s just fine."

They were quiet on the way out, Bruce drove Pop’s old truck and as they turned off the highway onto the access road that led to the lake itself, they bounced crazily over the ruts and potholes in the road. Normally the jouncing would make them laugh; they'd make affectionate jibes at Pop’s cheapness and the old truck he refused to give up, the first truck he’d bought. Today, there was only stony silence. Bruce looked over at his brother from time to time and Clark stared straight out of the windshield, never looking right and left.

They parked the truck in a gravel round-about a few feet from the shoreline, and kept to the side of the lake that Clark could safely negotiate. Clark pulled out rods and a tackle box from the back, and Bruce grabbed a blanket and a cooler. Bruce selected a spot and flipped the blanket open and settled it high up on the shoreline as Clark watched, glanced at the rods he held, and dropped them on the sand. 

"We’re not out here to fish," Clark said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Bruce opened his mouth to say 'of course we are' but said, "No."

He sat and waited for Clark to sit too. He stared down at him, long enough to make Bruce a little uneasy, then folded long legs under him and dropped to the blanket with a coltish grace that made Bruce feel worse in some way.

Bruce licked his lips and started, "We…we’re not talking lately. I want to know what’s wrong."

Clark reached out and grabbed a handful of sand, and Bruce flinched when he clearly heard it squeak in his hands. "Fuck you, Bruce, you know what’s wrong."

Hearing Clark curse was oddly like being stabbed. Bruce had to wait a minute before he could speak. "Clark…Clark you know…I don’t ever want to hurt you."

"You don’t!" Clark nearly yelled, and threw the fused lump of sand into the lake. Bruce watched it hit with a small splash and turned shocked eyes to Clark. He’d really kind of forgotten that Clark was …so strong. So different. 

Clark sounded a little calmer when he continued. "Then why did you? Hunh? Why did you, Bruce—you’ve known ever since... _forever_ that I love Lex. You looked right at me and—did that." He turned and faced away from Bruce. "You're a big stupid dick, Bruce. I hate you," he said, calmly as if he were discussing the weather. "I can’t wait until you go to college."

The words and the emotions were such a contrast Bruce had to choke back a startled laugh. "Are you serious? You’re just mad, you don’t mean that. You’re not—"

Clark looked at him and his eyes were watery and red. 

"Oh shit, Clark," Bruce felt like crap. He remembered the feeling that uncoiled in him like a cobra at the sight of Clark’s broken expression in the barn. He didn’t know himself why he did it. He didn’t know why part of him wanted to show his teeth at this fresh sign of emotion. He reached out and touched Clark’s shoulder. "Clark, I—"

Clark jerked away from Bruce and shoved him, hard. Bruce flew across the sand. He blinked hard and there was Clark, standing over him. Bruce raised his hand, waiting for Clark to help him to his feet and instead Clark smacked his hand away.

"Damn it Clark, that hurt!" Bruce stared up at Clark, his face in shadow with the light of the sun behind him. Only the red gleam of his eyes was visible. "Don’t think I’m weak just because I feel things," Clark snarled. "That would be a mistake". He dropped down on the sand and straddled Bruce. "Don’t think because I’m your brother that I’ll let you treat me like an idiot. I can’t do anything about Lex—he wants you, fine. You want him, fine. But both of you better realize I’m not too young. The only thing that makes me thirteen is Mom and Pop’s say-so. Don’t forget that, Bruce."

For the first time in his life Bruce was seriously afraid of Clark. The cute, annoying, somewhat goofy younger brother was gone—the face above him belonged to some terrible avenging angel, his eyes still glowed red behind the curtain of his too long hair, his teeth were bared in a snarl, his hands were clawed around Bruce’s collar. Clark was right, the only thing that made him thirteen was an arbitrary decision; Clark looked like a man, an angry, frightening and powerful man. 

"Clark!" Bruce gasped and tried to pull Clark’s hands loose, he was getting light-headed with lack of air, he could feel the blood pounding in his head, his throat, and horribly he could feel blood pounding elsewhere…"Get up," he gargled, "Stop, please!" His voice escaped in a strangled squeak. "You’re hurting me," he gasped and hoped it would break through the fog of anger enveloping his brother.

Clark looked down at him, he was frowning but he loosened his grip and Bruce sucked in a deep breath and tried to lie perfectly still. He felt like he was trapped beneath a wolf; if he moved too fast, he might die. His eyes tried to close and he forced them open, locked eyes with Clark and hoped they’d both come out of this all right. 

"I don’t ever want to hurt you, Bruce," Clark said mockingly, parodying Bruce’s tone and words. "What’s the matter, Bruce? Did I do something wrong?" He shifted and Bruce groaned, mostly in mortification, felt a flame of heat shoot over his face. 

"Clark, _don’t move—"_

Clark stiffened, first looked shocked and then, embarrassed. He tried to cover it. "Bruce—" he started and stopped. Got off him quickly and his face went redder than Bruce imagined his must be. 

Clark walked back to the blanket and Bruce lay on the sand, eyes closed and let the sun burn down on his eyelids. If he thought about it hard enough, maybe he’d just…die.

2  
Clark kept his head down. He could hear Bruce’s heart thundering and his breath hitch. If he listened harder he’d be able to hear the blood in his veins and his lungs moistly forcing air in and out. He heard Bruce swallow, loud as a gunshot, and knew what he was hearing, was Bruce's over whelming embarrassment. 

_Fucking hell!_ Clark cursed long and steady in his mind, used words he’d never speak aloud. Fucking Whitney, he was going to kill him.

"Clark, I wanted to straighten things out between us, and now it’s just worse, isn’t it?" 

Clark could hear Bruce’s heart speed up even more, the beats going wild, stuttering all over. It was costing him physically to talk. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want you to still like me…is that possible?"

The beat of Bruce’s heart was a galloping counterpoint to his words. He glanced over and Bruce was still splayed flat on his back in the sand. 

Clark got up and walked over to him. "Get up Bruce." He held out his hand and Bruce looked at him warily, stuck his hand out slowly, carefully and Clark took it the same way. Bruce let himself be pulled to his feet. 

Clark sighed, but didn’t quite meet Bruce’s eyes. "What happened was weird, but not freaky-weird, okay?" he turned away and felt Bruce’s eyes on him. 

Bruce snorted in disbelief. "Not freaky? Fuck…" He scratched his head hard, flinging his hair around. "Yeah—I got a—" He looked at Clark with pleading eyes."—aw, don’t make me say it, fucking hell, Clark" 

Clark could practically hear Bruce thinking, _God, is there something wrong with me?_ He shook his head. "Stuff just happens sometimes Bruce. It’s not worth panicking over," and Clark was surprised to realize he really meant it., he was actually worried about Bruce. Which just went to prove he was truly an idiot and Bruce led him around by his heart. He’d wanted to smack Bruce, he still wanted to smack him, but at least at the moment, he didn’t want to smack his head right off his shoulders. He kind of wanted to hug him and tell him it was okay. Clark growled at himself. _Idiot._ Bruce walked slowly up to the blanket and sat down. His eyes were on the hands strangling each other in his lap.

"I’m…I’m sorry?"

Clark snapped, "I already said it wasn’t important!"

"Not just that—for everything."

Clark sat still and let the air move over him, let the sound of water licking the shore draw his attention away from Bruce for a moment and he relaxed a bit. There was a choice here. There was a lot of ways a choice could be made. What Whitney and he had talked about was fresh in his mind. For a moment, he hated Whitney like poison. Why couldn’t he have warned him about this— _come out on top—fucking bastard—_

3  
Bruce sat next to Clark and his stomach turned over. He couldn’t stop looking at him. He couldn’t stop feeling how warm he’d been. It was upsetting and turning him on and making him sick all at once. Clark was glaring at him; his eyes were hard, his lips pressed into a straight line, impossibly thin. Gradually, Bruce realized that Clark wasn’t looking out, he was looking in. What was he thinking? Probably how much he hated him…when Clark's focus returned to Bruce, Bruce felt it like a blow. The ice in Clark's expression melted away. His eyes were warmer and his mouth curved into a smile. 

"Don’t think about it Bruce, relax, before you have a heart attack. Forget it. Everything really is fine."

Bruce shivered. He didn’t believe a word. Clark was smiling, and his eyes were bright and clear and he was turned to Bruce and leaning toward him and Bruce _knew_ he was lying. He had to be. Clark was telling the hugest fib of his life, but Bruce wanted to believe. 

"You and Lex are good together," and Bruce wanted to believe him, "I’m too young, I know it" and he wanted to believe. "I’m glad you two found each other." Oh, he’d fight to believe that too.Bruce was going to make it his business to believe that he finally got what he wanted all along, which was Lex; ever since they were kids he’d wanted Lex. 

Clark forgave him. He’d believe that too. He didn’t have to feel bad about being with Lex. Now he just had to convince Lex of the same thing. 

4  
Clark watched Bruce, watched his face change and his heart beat slow. His color edged back toward normal, his lips weren’t white and clamped between his teeth now. Clark watched the changes with interest. 

Bruce didn’t look the same anymore, there was something deep down different about him. About himself too. He could taste it at the back of his throat, feel it slither around, thick and sticky. 

He still wanted to hit Whitney.

BWLLCK

1  
"I hate you Whit. I really hate you."

"Uhm, hmm. I know," Whitney replied. "That's what—the hundredth time you said that today?"   
.  
Clark was annoyed. The guy just didn’t get how much Clark hated him. Why hadn’t Whit given him some idea how screwed up his life was going to get? 

Whitney smirked at Clark from his cocoon of blankets, wrapped up like a mummy in the bottom bunk of the beds. Clark had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and swung back and forth in the chair snugged up to Whit’s desk. He swung the chair and shuffled again through the pile of pictures on the desk, photo after photo of Lana looking very beautiful in every shot. Clark held a picture up, looked closely at her. He got that Whitney was mesmerized by her, he really did. She had luminous skin, and sparkling eyes, her hair was sleek and thick and so dark, you’d just _have_ to touch it--she really was lovely. If things were different, Clark thought, he could have been attracted to her too. He leaned back and stared at one of the colorful, bright squares, full of Whitney and Lana at Mario’s, squashed into the window booth together and laughing at the camera. Together. 

If things were different…he’d probably be happier. If he were attracted to Lana, if he had someone like her, his life would be so much simpler. He wouldn’t have to hide it; he wouldn’t be heart-broken watching her love someone else and not being able to talk about it. He sighed and slowly leafed through the pictures once again. Clark felt a sick stab of envy, so deep and violent, that for a moment, he felt truly ill. 

"What’s the matter, Clark?" Whit was leaning up on one elbow, concerned because he was Clark's friend and could see that he was upset.

Clark shook his head. "Nothing. Stupid, that’s all." He swung to face Whit and asked him. "Why can’t you just tell me flat out what’s going to happen?"

Whit usually gave him the same answer every time—"I’m not Jean fricking Dixon, Clark— I can’t tell the future. I’m not an effin’ mind reader, okay?" 

Clark barely listened to Whit’s responses anymore. "Bruce apologized to me—sort of—about Lex. Apologized! Asshole. Like that was going to make it better. I hate him." There was no heat to the words at all. Too much thought, too much want burned it all out. It just _was _now. Whitney knew.__

__"I thought you hated me?"_ _

__"I hate him more and you’re not taking me seriously."_ _

__"Don’t hate him; you can’t afford to hate him. Hey, you live in the same house, after all," he said at Clark’s glare._ _

__"Bruce…bastard. He should thank me that I’m not telling Mom and Pop what’s going on in that barn." He pouted and glowered at Whitney when he shook his head._ _

__"Don’t do that—you’ll just make everything worse."_ _

__Clark huffed. They were quiet for a bit, and then Clark asked Whit, color flushing his cheeks. "Have you ever gotten hard around a bunch of people? Like out of the blue?"_ _

__Whit looked at him and laughed a little. "Yeah?"_ _

__"What about with some one that you know—someone not your girlfriend?"_ _

__"Yeah. Why?" Whit blushed and stared at the underside of the top bunk instead of Clark._ _

__"Bruce. I—we were fighting, and I knocked him down and sat on him and."_ _

__"Oh! You’re kidding, you did?" Whitney felt a little flash of uneasiness…that didn’t seem right, somehow._ _

__"No—he did!"_ _

__"Oh! Oh…wow, that’s kind of. Not so good," Whit muttered and another wave of uneasiness swept him. Something was being pulled out of shape, this didn’t feel right somehow._ _

__"Well, it’s not like he was happy about it. He was all freaked out..." Clark threw the pictures on the desktop. "Ah, shit. It’s awful. I can’t wait until they’re both gone, you know?"_ _

__Whitney nodded. _me either._ "Once they’re back in school it’ll all seem easier and it’ll all make more sense. We’ll be in high school next year. Things are going to be different. Better."_ _

__"You’re lying," Clark said. "You know it’s not going to get better. It’s just going to get worse and worse until I explode, isn’t it?" He climbed up to the top bunk, kicking Whit on the way, and Whit laughed. "Good night, loverboy, sweet dreams."_ _

__"Yeah, you too Clark." Whit stared up at the smiling picture of Lana he’d tucked into the box spring, just like he’d seen a guy do in some war movie once and had thought it was cool. He sighed—when things got too complicated, too much to carry, at least he had this. He’d always have this, he thought and traced the shape of his girl's face._ _

____

BWLLCK

1  
Lex walked silently through the dark house, out of the kitchen and out into the still heavy night air. 

The sky was black and the huge, flat yellow disk of the moon hung high above. It was sticky hot, thick and clinging hot. Even walking down the few porch steps broke sweat out all over him; he grimaced at the taste on his lips. The air hung on him, dragged at him; he felt like he was pushing through it and the feeling was unpleasant.

Every reluctant step he took closer to the barn felt like something was prodding him, pushing him to go there. He had the most peculiar feeling that if he took one step to the side, angled away from the barn, the whole world would tilt until it shoved him back into the grove countless versions of him had made across a million different universes—one step after the other, moving closer, into the double doors, into the barn. 

He padded across the hay littered floor, dust and debris silencing his footsteps, closer and closer, up the stairs that should be creaking with his weight but were silent. 

The cold white light of the moon pierced the thick darkness oddly, he could see a slice of stair and a black and white impression of garden tools on the wall and a gray bucket filled with white sand and then the big plastic wrapper of some kind of cookie left lying on the floor and a piece of the striped blanket Bruce usually covered with and then, Bruce….

Bruce sitting up waiting for him and his expression was an odd mixture of fear and triumph. "You came."

Lex looked at him. "Did— _I_ didn’t even know I was coming."

Bruce stood. He was naked and the moon did that odd lighting thing so that Bruce’s face was in darkness, impossible to read now that he was standing. He was black and gray and white in the light and Lex shivered. He felt himself getting hard and he felt a little dizzy. Everything this night was heavy and dark and too much. 

Lex took a step towards Bruce and felt like he was falling. "I'm scared."

Bruce’s voice was scratchy and thin. "You don’t have to be. I won’t hurt you, promise," and he sounded as though he were trying to breathe.

Lex shook himself like a dog shaking off water. The weird hold the night had on him was broken, he felt a little more like himself. "Not you. I’m not afraid of you. There’s something else." 

He would have said more, but Bruce's hands were slipping in the sweat pooled in the small of his back and his chin was sliding down his throat. He was hotter than Lex was, wetter, and when he slid the thin cotton boxers down, his dick fit in the crease of his groin perfectly and Lex’s fit against him perfectly, and any concerns he had dissolved in the slide of dick against dick and breath and touch….

2  
For the rest of the summer Lex went to Bruce in the middle of the night and slipped back in the house before sunrise. 

Sometimes he passed Clark on the stairs at night; they ignored each other, never questioning where the other had been. He moved down the stairs past him and Lex was always silent. Lex had the irrational feeling that if he spoke, or moved toward him at all it would break a spell, be the one little push that would transform Clark and he’d sweep Lex off the stairs, red eyes and claws deep in his gut…. 

In the day, it was business as usual. Clark was as warm as always, as gentle and loving as always, and not in the least bit frightening. He was good old Clark, sweet little Clark, same as he ever was.

BWLLCK

1  
It wasn’t Bruce’s day for class at Mr. Mac’s. 

Clark was there anyway, hung around in the back of the class and watched the students work out. Mac waved at Clark as he walked to his office 

Sean wandered over, smiled a little as he wiped his neck with a towel. "Hey Clark, Bruce isn’t here."

"I know."

Sean’s smile got a little wider. "Yeah?"

2  
Grumbling all the way, Bruce brought a stack of folded laundry into Lex’s room at Martha’s command, dropped it on the bed. He huffed, let Lex put it away himself. It was completely unfair that it was the weekend and he still was working. Where the heck was Lex, where was Clark? 

He was on his way out of the room when a notebook on Lex’s desk caught his eye. He read the open page, scrawled over with a list of things Lex would need in the fall when he left for Princeton. There was another sheet of paper with little square boxes aligned along one edge of the page, carefully and precisely ticked off. Bruce sighed at this reminder of the changes this fall would bring. The thought of it gnawed at him constantly—the feeling he had that Lex was just waiting to leave, perched on the edge like a bird about to fly. 

A folded sheet with Lionel’s name on it lay next to the list. Bruce wondered about the note, he knew Lex kept contact with his dad to a minimum. He poked at the mess on the desktop, looking at it made him feel funny. Lex used to be so precise and neat, everything in its place and a place for everything. Bruce smiled a little. He looked around the room, curtains still closed, wrinkled pants tossed on the unmade bed; the shirts on the floor jumbled with socks and shoved half under the bed. He shook his head and grabbed some of the clothes from the floor, and looked for the hamper Ma kept in each room. He just managed to keep from stroking the shirts. He tossed socks in the hamper and folded the few clean shirts he found tangled in the covers, he straightened the covers on the bed and opened the curtains and before he knew it he was cleaning Lex’s room. It wasn’t right, that it should be so messy and disorganized. It wasn’t Lex. 

The pile of clean clothes went into an upper drawer in the dresser. He pushed the undershirts his mom had carefully folded inside and his fingers bumped against something, a box under the other shirts there. He hesitated for a moment and then eased the box out. 

It was just an old-fashioned tin cookie box. He shook it and a dry rustle issued from it. He set in on top of the dresser and pried the lid off. A pile of papers, pictures, cards stuffed it—it was exactly the sort of thing one would expect to find in an old box. He took a card from it, a cheap ‘humorous’ card, a drugstore card, the kind a kid gets his girlfriend---the box pitched off the top of the dresser and hit the carpet, spilling its contents everywhere.

"Shit!" he hissed and dropped to his knees. He looked at the mess of paper and photos, and every fiber of his rational being told him, scoot it back together and put the damn stuff away…and the part of him that had smiled at Clark when he’d trapped Lex on the ladder told him, _oh no-you should look, maybe it will help you understand Lex, it’ll be good for the both of you, really…._

He scooped up a handful of photographs, 35mm prints, a few Polaroids, and a little wire-bound notebook dropped out of his grasp and hit the floor. It spread open and on the page he read, _Harry and I share a lot. His dad and my dad are made from the same pile of shit._

Bruce reached for the notebook and it flipped open to another page _—like it. It’s not possible. Perhaps he thinks he does, has been trained to think—_ Bruce shoved his thumb across the edge and another page read— _think I love him. I wish I could help him. It’s so frustrating, and he has no family to turn to, rather, no normal family. I never thought of myself as lucky until I met him..._ He dropped the notebook and looked at the stack of pictures in his hand. They were mostly of a big solid blonde guy that had to be Harry, a tiny girl that looked vaguely like…Clark. He frowned. Must be Victoria…there were a few taken of them all dressed up at what looked to be a ball. Lex in a tux and glowing, his eyes were on Harry and it made Bruce want to rip the picture in half. There were some of Vic. She posed against a variety of surfaces in a variety of states of undress. She had lips like Clark’s…Bruce licked his too dry lips and flipped through more pictures. Harry, tied up. Harry, blindfolded. Being fucked. Being used by both of them. 

Every picture was a record of what Lex did to Harry, what Harry did for him. 

Bruce’s hands shook and he shoved the pictures into a messy pile and crammed them back into the box. His breath shook and his heart pounded. There were cards on the floor, they all said the same thing, _I love you, Lex, I love you,_ and he shoved them back in the box too. Letters, he was afraid to look at, but he came back to the pictures like a kid picking at a scab. He looked at the photos that ended on top, a few really beautiful black and white pictures that looked professional, pictures of Harry and Lex in deep, bent grass—flowers, a garden maybe—spread out on their clothes. Bruce could make out a tie, white shirts, dark pants. And beautiful. So beautiful. He hated the picture of Harry, head back and Lex biting at his throat, Harry obviously oblivious to the photographer…Bruce flipped the photo. Scribbled across the back was _'don’t tell me I don’t love you—enjoy. Vic'_

In the next one Harry bent over Lex, who had his hands in thick handfuls of pale curls, looking down on Harry with his eyes wide, lip pulled between his teeth. Bruce slipped the picture between a few others. He’d never seen Lex like that. When Lex came to him, he was always so still in his hands. He thought Lex was just that way. Pliant, reserved and so very quiet…not like this, not at all....

The next one was of Harry, light, light eyes, blue or maybe green or gray, and a cloud of blond curls in the sun, sun all over him—Lex all over him, kissing and touching him, in him and on him like every part of Harry was his. Bruce inhaled, sharp, short. Looking at Lex's pictures was like stabbing himself in the heart and twisting the knife. 

He straightened the pictures, refolded the cards and letters, closed the notebook. Snapped the lid back on the tin. He carefully put the box back, put the undershirts over it. Okay. This was something—past. Something that Lex was getting over. "It's stupid to be jealous," he said, and his gut folded in on itself, his nails bit into his palm. _Take a breath, deep breath, relax. Leave._ He guided himself step by step out of the room; back down the stairs, into the kitchen. 

Martha looked up from her baking. "Bruce? Are you okay, sweetie?" 

He nodded and even smiled. "Yeah, sure." He poured a glass of milk, sat at the table and watched her, absorbed in the process of making cookies.

"What took you so long, honey?" She floated past him with a distracted expression and an oven mitt in her hand. The good smell of cookies baking filled the kitchen.

"I straightened up Lex’s room—it was a mess." He sat and drank the milk, ate the still warm cookies she put in front of him. Complimented her on the new recipe. "The cinnamon is great in there, Ma." The perfect circles of cinnamon gold looked like little suns on the green plate. He bit into another.

She beamed. "Thanks dear. I can see you do like them," she said as Bruce wolfed the cookies down.

"How much longer before Clark and Lex are back from school shopping, you think?"

"Could be a while yet, they’re going to a matinee too. I’m so glad Lex took him instead, we just argue over everything these days, Clark and I. He’s so stubborn."

Bruce gulped at the glass of milk and choked a little."’Scuse me, yes ma’m, stubborn…do you mind if I head over to Mac’s, then?"

"No—" She checked the time. "No, go ahead. I’m not keeping dinner for you though."

"No, that’s okay, I’ll eat in town." He stood and kissed her cheek. "I really love you, Ma. I love you a lot."

"Well, goodness, thanks," she smiled, a faint look of puzzlement in her eyes. "Go, have fun."

Right before Bruce walked out, she called, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

He turned and smiled at her. "What?"

"Anything. You can talk to me about anything at all, if you want to…."

Bruce glanced at her and back toward the outside. "I know, Ma. Thanks for that, too." He trotted down the steps and out to the drive, had the feeling her eyes were still on him.

BWLLCK

1  
Mac watched him, a faint frown on his face. _Damn it,_ Bruce thought. _He’s going to grab me—_ he glanced at Sean across the studio and Sean smirked. _Fucker._ He knew Mac was set to read him the riot act.

After the younger students left and the older students had brought order back to the studio, Mac told Bruce he wanted to speak to him. Sean shrugged and grabbed his bag.   
"Want me to hang around, Bruce? Need a ride?"

"No thanks—got the truck."

"Oooh, since you got your license you don’t need me anymore, hunh? Well, for that and...other things either."

Bruce made a face at Sean. "Beat it, will you, Mac's waiting."

"Uhm. See you later, Big Guy."

Bruce colored faintly. "Shut up Sean."

Sean laughed."Aww, sorry. No pet names in public, I got it…" He still let his eyes linger over Bruce’s body; by the time he got to his eyes Bruce was angry and blushing furiously ."I really would like to get together with you sometime soon—you know I’m leaving in a few weeks."

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, okay. We’ll get together before you go." 

"Great, I’ve been lonely now that you’re so busy with your cousin," he said, slapped Bruce on the back and headed out. Bruce watched him go and growled. Sean made him so mad, right up until he looked in his face and caved. Why couldn’t he be with Sean the way he was with Lex? 

2

Mac got to right to business when Bruce shut the door.

"You’ve been slacking off, Kent. You’ve been losing control. You’re not as focused as you’re capable of being—what’s going on?" Bruce shook his head, and Mac glowered. "This class may not be your entire life, but when you’re in this studio, act like it is." He softened slightly. "You can always talk to me about anything, Bruce, if you need a sympathetic ear."

Bruce sighed. "Nothing’s wrong, Mac."

"Is it your cousin?"

Bruce managed not to jerk his head up. He answered evenly, "No sir, why do you ask?"

"Seemed to me that his arrival coincided with your loss of concentration. Sometimes family can be…problematic." He smiled faintly and offered Bruce tea, a ritual they both enjoyed. Bruce took a moment, letting the flavor of the tea fill his mouth, and thought about what he wanted to say.

"We get along good—he’s the best. It’s…nothing really, nothing that has to do with him. I guess if anything is bothering me, it’s that Clark and I are a little at odds. Actually he’s a little at odds with the world at the moment."

Mac looked up from his cup and said, "Clark? He seems the same as he ever was. He’s started working out with Sean lately. He’s good too. A little hesitant maybe, but he’s got great potential, like you…" Mac took in the look of surprise on Bruce’s face. "Didn’t you know? Guess he wanted to surprise you." He flashed a quick grin. "Don’t let on I told you."

Bruce just shook his head, a smile frozen on his face. Clark shouldn’t be taking judo—what if he accidentally hurt someone, or did something suspicious? This was just too dangerous. Why in the world would he want to take judo now anyway? 

Bruce walked out of the studio and headed towards the Talon. Maybe he could catch up with them at the movies.

3  
Stepping out into the bright sunlight after being in the dark theater dazzled Lex's eyes and momentarily distracted him from the argument he was having with Clark. He had to ask him again what he’d said, and Clark snapped back, "I _said _I’m tired of you guys treating me like a baby."__

__"What, because I told you not to kick the seat backs? I mean, you just went on and on just like a damn little kid—and who did you think that guy was going to punch out, the little kid, or me? I would have had to fight him—you know you can’t fight anyone." Lex glared at Clark, the jerk’s words echoing in his head. _you fucking little bald-headed freak, tell your pet monkey to stop kicking my chair or I’ll kill him._ Lex growled. Monkey—fucking jerk, calling Clark a monkey. Clark, whose green eyes were trained on him like twin lasers and his lower lip poked out in a way that did little to make him look the tough guy he was trying to be._ _

__Lex stifled a laugh and went on. "Then _you_ start in on me and I’d like to know what the hell I’ve been doing wrong lately? What’s up with you? You’re cranky as hell and to tell you the truth, I’ve had about enough."_ _

__Clark yelled, "Then leave! Nobody said you had to hang out with me!" and heads turned their way._ _

__Lex grinned and shrugged, took a step closer to Clark and pat him on the shoulder, leaned his head towards his. He said under his breath, "Keep it down a little will you Clark? People are looking at us weird. Weirder than usual," he said, trying to diffuse Clark’s temper._ _

__"Fuck you!"_ _

__Clark looked a little shocked at his own outburst and then immediately defiant. He threw his head back and glared at Lex, feet apart, his arms folded over his chest. Lex stopped and stared open-mouthed at him, torn between the desire to paste him a good one, and more disastrously, hug him._ _

__What the fuck was going on? What the hell had he done—he snapped his mouth shut. This was about the nighttime. Or…was it? Did Clark have some idea what was going on with Bruce and him? He dismissed it even as he thought it. Clark was too innocent that way—his world was still GI Joes and bikes and matinees with popcorn, right?_ _

__Lex saw – _heard—_ Uncle Jon’s truck coming around the corner, and Clark heard it too. He looked positively vicious and snarled, "Bruce…"_ _

__Lex stepped forward with his hands out—what did he plan to do, stop Clark from hurting Bruce? Not bloodily likely if that’s what he wanted to do…but for an instant he truly felt that Clark was a danger to him. His hands dropped to his side again. And that was just ridiculous._ _

__A car horn blasted behind him and he jumped. Turned. A black Firebird sat purring at the curb, the horn blasted again and the engine roared._ _

__It was that idiot fuck-buddy of Bruce’s, Sean. Clark’s face lit up and when the passenger side door opened, he took off and jumped in the car. Lex was so shocked he just stood and watched him before his brain kicked into gear again._ _

__"Clark! Get back here, damn it!"_ _

__He could hear Clark laughing and Sean leaned out of his window and grinned at him. "I’ll bring him home, ah, Lex, right? Don’t worry—he’ll be fine." And before Lex could protest, they sped off._ _

__Bruce ran over and whirled Lex around, red with fury. "Why the heck did you let Clark leave with Sean? He’s supposed to be with you, damn it!"_ _

__Lex glared at Bruce and asked him, "When was the last time you told your brother no?" He yanked Bruce’s hand off his shirt and hissed, "Stop making a scene for god’s sake." He straightened his shirt and absent-mindedly did the same for Bruce, pushed the hair back from his forehead._ _

__Bruce blushed, jerked his head back out of Lex’s reach and glared back. "Doesn’t matter, you’re the older one here. When he’s with you, he’s your responsibility."_ _

__"Yeah well, it’s not like he’s a little kid anymore Bruce. It’s harder than that."_ _

__Bruce yanked at his hair until it fell back over his forehead and huffed in irritation. "I know, I just don’t trust Sean. He’s kind of a weasel."_ _

__"Ya think?" Lex said incredulously and went on, "Should we go after them? I mean, he won’t try anything with Clark will he, not that Clark would let him, since he’s not that way…." He worried at his lip and thought about Clark, knowing he wouldn’t defend himself to the extent he’d need to against Sean._ _

__Bruce stared up the street, frowning with the same worry that had Lex biting his lip. He didn’t even think as he spoke again, more to himself than to Lex."Yeah he is…fucking Sean...I should go look for him. Damn it, I’m gonna go look for them." He turned to Lex, "Go back to the house and tell Ma Clark’s with me?"_ _

__Lex nodded and kept on nodding slightly as Bruce walked off. _Yeah he is? What the fuck did that mean?_ Did Bruce even know what he’d just said? Clark was gay? Lex felt like he’d ran full tilt into a wall. He was gay? Lex walked over to Aunt Martha’s car blindly. He sat inside and didn’t even feel the sizzling vinyl against his back. _Oh my god._ Clark did understand. Those nights they passed on the stair, Clark knew…Lex swallowed hard. If Clark was gay, then everything changed, didn’t it? Every thought that he’d never fully let form, every feeling that lurked under his skin seemed to flood his brain—for a moment he was paralyzed by the overwhelming emotions. He yanked off the ball cap he was wearing and tossed it into the back seat. _ _

__Clark was fourteen…almost. Almost in high school, almost not a little kid…shit. Untouchable. Lex bit his lip, started the car to head towards home. Shit. Shit. It was worse knowing than not._ _

__4  
Sean drove around town a bit, making fun of people on the street, and Clark laughed, sometimes what Sean said was kind of mean, but everything was funnier the way he said it and it thrilled Clark a little that Sean didn’t even care. He pointed at people and laughed and made comments and Clark felt—embarrassed, a little guilty for laughing too, but good, like Sean was treating him like his friend, not just Bruce’s little brother, Clark._ _

__Cool people didn’t worry about whether the Cat lady—Mrs. Samson—cared if they made fun of her hair, or the way she smelled, or her shopping cart full of empty bags and cat food. Cool people didn’t care what they said or how they said it. Clark laughed and looked at Sean to see if he saw him laughing._ _

__Sean grinned back at him; all bright teeth and shining eyes, and the way Sean looked at him, like he never heard of Bruce…Clark felt a little warm squirming in his gut. Sean grinned wider and ran his finger lightly across Clark's arm. He tried hard not to shiver, but felt the hairs on his arm rise up under Sean's touch. God, he hoped he wasn’t going to embarrass himself._ _

__"Hey. Let's go out to the lake. We can swim, if you’re allowed to. We can stop at the gas station or something and you can call home—"_ _

__Clark snapped,"Hey, I can do whatever I want! You wanna go, let’s go." He crossed his fingers mentally and hoped devoutly that Bruce wasn’t going to do something stupid and come looking for him and make him die of embarrassment. It would be like having your dad show up on a date. Clark blushed. Not that this was a date or anything._ _

__When they got to the lake, Sean drove on, following the gravel track back into the trees, past the lake. When he stopped, Clark couldn’t see the lake, couldn’t hear the crowds unless he tried._ _

__"I thought we were going to go swimming?" He asked._ _

__Sean smiled. "We can if you want but I thought maybe…you want to sit with me a while."_ _

__He leaned closer and Clark felt a thrill race through him. Maybe Sean wanted to kiss him. It was a good feeling; he really, really didn’t want Whitney to be his first kiss. That would have really made him feel like a loser. If it couldn’t be Lex, then Sean was good. Show that asshole Bruce he wasn’t the only one that could steal…Clark blushed and Sean leaned closer still. His fingers touched his skin, they felt almost icy against his flushed cheeks. Closer, and he felt Sean’s breath warm against his lips, and the scent of mint tickled his nose, the smell of Sean…closer, and the almost brush against his mouth made his lips tingle. His eyes closed without his wanting them to and he felt a butterfly soft touch on his mouth._ _

__Oh—his first kiss ever. He froze, not sure what was expected of him, and Sean’s hands moved to his neck, gentle as his own hands when he held a kitten. Sean's thumbs framed his chin, brushed over the skin there softly, gently, until Clark wished he’d hold him a little harder._ _

__Sean’s lips rested lightly against his and then there was more, gentle pressure tipped Clark's head back slightly and then he couldn’t help it, his lips moved under Sean’s. Sean made a low sound and pulled back. Clark felt a little thrill of horror—was he not supposed to do that? God—he shouldn’t have moved—why did he move? Sean’s eyes were darker than before, he was breathing just a little harder—that had to be good, right? The lose control thing? Clark felt like he might lose a little control…._ _

__"Clark, have you ever kissed anyone before?"_ _

__He felt like dying, he wanted to crawl right under the seat and die. He knew it! He sucked at it, he was lousy and now Sean was going to laugh at him. Suddenly his mouth felt too big, his teeth felt huge…he shook his head, words stuck in his throat. God, he was such a loser._ _

__Sean inhaled sharply and his eyes lowered until they were focused on his lips. "Oh man, Clark, that’s kind of…" Clark closed his eyes and waited for the laugh to cut him through. "That's hot," Sean whispered. "I'm the first one you ever kissed? Did you like it?"_ _

__Clark nodded, red again and this time warmer all over. The way Sean sounded—he could feel heat building up in his groin. Sean asked him if he’d like to try it again. Yes, he really would._ _

__Sean kissed him just as slowly and carefully as before, tipped his head back again and this time, Clark felt the hot wet tip of his tongue flit across his mouth, a gentle barely there touch he repeated until Clark tentatively opened his lips. The slide of Sean’s tongue against his was electrifying. He felt wave after wave of heat with each sweep of his tongue, each pass over his lips, over the roof of his mouth…Clark pressed closer and closer, something inside wanted more, waited to be loosed and it was terrifying and exciting and really, really good. Sean curled his hand around the back of Clark’s head, held him tight and sucked on his tongue. Clark moaned—the feeling was so intense he felt like he was on fire, everything burned and he opened his mouth wider, moaning right into Sean’s mouth, so loud that the sound knocked him out of the wonderful floating place he’d been in._ _

__He was drowning in embarrassment, almost jerked away from Sean, but at the last moment realized he could hurt him. He felt trapped in Sean’s hands; he had to stop before…something happened. He shuddered from head to toe and instinct made him open his knees when Sean scraped nails over his legs. He was being kissed again and he didn’t remember how that happened. The hot wet slide in and out of his mouth pulled gasp after gasp from him and then—_ _

__"Stop! Please Sean, stop now…" Clark was pressed against the window, Sean’s hands—one hand was curved over the painful erection pressed hard against his zipper, not moving but so—there—and the other was under his chin, raising his mouth to him, letting him scrape teeth over his tender swollen lips…"Stop, please!" Clark was dizzy, he felt torn between his desire to throw Sean off of him and to pull him down on top of him and just push and rub and push. Every bite, every delicious scrape of teeth made him want to spread his legs wider, made heat pound behind his eyes and in his throat and in his dick._ _

__Sean sat back. He was panting heavily himself. When he spoke he was breathless._ _

__"What—you’re kidding, right?" He looked red-faced and angry and Clark gasped a little, waited, still as stone—if he had to make Sean stop he would, but to Clark’s relief, Sean’s eyes cleared and his lips smoothed out from the snarl they’d curled into. "Okay. Okay, sorry, you’re so damn…fuck. Do you want me to take you home now?"_ _

__Clark pulled his tee-shirt down as far as he could and grabbed his knees. "Ca-can we go to the lake first?"_ _

__Sean exhaled hard, pulled a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it was and grinned, "Sure. Sure, kid, let's go cool down, we need it, right?"_ _

__5  
Clark was lying stretched across the Firebird on the hood of Sean’s car and Sean was leaning between his legs, back to him and facing Bruce when he pulled up. Bruce stalked over to the car, came to an abrupt stop in front of them. Looked at Clark. "You okay?" _ _

__Clark glanced at him, and smirked. "Of course."_ _

__Bruce tossed his hair back and said, "Then get the fuck up." Clark jerked upright and Sean slid off the hood._ _

__"Hey, chill out," Sean smiled at Bruce. "We've just been sitting here, people watching." He moved over and patted the place between them. "You can sit with us. We don’t mind."_ _

__Bruce frowned and looked closely at Clark. His mouth was swollen, red. He looked edgy…messy. He noticed Bruce staring at his mouth and blushed deep red. Bruce glared at Sean. "Get in the truck Clark. Now." Clark opened his mouth and Bruce said, "I swear to god Clark if you give me any lip, I’ll kick the living hell out of you. Get in the fucking truck—right the fuck now." Bruce’s voice got lower and quieter as he went on and Clark stiffened._ _

__"Okay, okay." He slid past Sean and nearly ran to the truck._ _

__"Sean, you don’t want to mess with Clark. I’m not kidding you."_ _

__Sean grinned and slouched back against the car. "Oh? You gonna take his place? Because I don’t see any other incentive to keep away from him. He’s old enough to—erk!"_ _

__Bruce’s hand was wrapped around Sean’s throat and squeezing hard, he watched as Sean's face turned bright red, his eyes bulged. Sean scratched frantically at Bruce’s hands, leaving red welts on the skin and Bruce hissed in his ear, "Son-of-a- bitch, you know I can kill you this easily, and I will if you fuck with my brother, I promise you." Bruce pressed harder and shook him like a terrier with a rat. "Do you understand me?"_ _

__Sean’s eyes were wide and he nodded as much as he could with Bruce’s hand wrapped tight around his neck. Bruce let go and stepped back. "You know I’m not kidding right?"_ _

__Sean nodded and swallowed painfully. He had a band of red around his neck that promised to purple quickly. "No more lessons, no more rides, I mean it." Bruce spun on his heels and stalked towards the truck and each step he took towards Clark, he could see the boy pushed himself that much more against the window. He could see that he was scared—good. He had no idea what Clark thought he could do to him but good if he still scared him._ _

__"What the fuck were you thinking?" He flung open the door and dropped into the seat. "Do you think because he can’t harm you physically that he can’t _hurt _you? There’s more ways to damage someone then bodily, believe me."___ _

____Clark said not a word, just huddled against the door._ _ _ _

____"And just in case you think I’m jealous, Sean doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. You can’t hurt me by being with him."_ _ _ _

____Clark turned red and shouted, "That's not what I was trying to do!"_ _ _ _

____Bruce threw the truck into gear. Snorted. "Sure. You just suddenly had to start training with Sean. Right. Then you’re up in the woods doing god knows what—you’ve been a perfect little shit lately. Get over it."_ _ _ _

____Clark kicked Bruce in the leg and the truck weaved wildly across the road before Bruce brought it to a stop on the shoulder. "God damn it Clark—you could have hurt me," Bruce yelled, he was so angry that Clark flinched away from him, his own show of temper dissolving in the face of Bruce’s fury. He yanked Clark toward him with both hands wrapped in his collar. "Stop, so help me god Clark, I’m so pissed off right now…" He pushed him back towards the door and Clark let himself fall back._ _ _ _

____Bruce heard a small gulp. "For god’s sake, don’t cry." and of course Clark burst into loud tears._ _ _ _

____"I don’t get anything anymore! It’s all so—fucked up! —I keep trying to act like it’s better but it’s not! It won’t get better!" His voice rose to a wail and Bruce winced._ _ _ _

____"I know, I know, it’s terrible—"_ _ _ _

____"No, _you’re _terrible—and I was terrible and it’s all too much! Why did you do that to me? Why?"___ _ _ _

______Bruce felt his stomach drop. There was the question again. He had no better answer this time as he did before, and he’d asked himself the same thing over and over. "I don’t know, I don’t know why. I’m so sorry. It’s like there’s something in me that I try to keep locked up…"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Clark shivered. "It must be in both of us then."_ _ _ _ _ _

______He wrapped his arms around himself, tighter, Bruce watched him and sighed. "Look, we’ll watch each other; keep each other safe, promise. Ma and Pop, they’ll help us, keep us safe too, right? "_ _ _ _ _ _

______Clark nodded and slowly unwound from the miserable knot he’d wrapped himself in. He asked a little hesitantly, "Bruce, do you still care about me—even though, you know."_ _ _ _ _ _

_______God_ Bruce thought. _Does he think what he did was anything like what I did to him? Shit. That’s so—_ "Clark." Bruce reached a hand across the seat and he took Clark’s chin in his hand. His thumb stoked once over the curve of his jaw and dropped away. He said flatly, "I love you more than anything in the world."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Clark stared. "You do? Really?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I swear Clark—you come first. Before everything, you come first in my heart. Always."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Clark closed his eyes. "Okay," he sighed. "I love you too Bruce, no matter what, you’re my older brother. Stuck with each other."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Whatever, kid." Bruce forced a laugh. He turned the key in the ignition and pleaded with himself, _let’s just go forward and forget everything before. I just want to keep going forward. I just want to breathe.__ _ _ _ _ _

______The truck shuddered into life and bounced back out onto the road, and the wind blew through the open windows and cooled them, dried hair and shirts and for a little bit, they felt human again. After a while Bruce said, "It's like we’re always having this conversation, hunh?_ _ _ _ _ _

______Clark squirmed a bit."Yeah. Maybe we can stop having it now?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bruce snorted. "Boy, you’re going to miss me when I leave for college, aren’t you?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Ask me next year when you leave. But, yeah. It’ll be weird without you. I will miss you a little bit." He flashed Bruce a smile and it felt really good—it felt like a real smile._ _ _ _ _ _

______"S’okay, I’ll leave you the Fortress when I go. You and your buddies can use it all you like. You know, instead of sneaking up there like you do now?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Great, Bruce! Can we take your stupid posters down?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bruce gaped at Clark in mock horror. "Stupid—stupid? The Who are the greatest band in the whole world—if you had any taste you’d realize that."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Bruce, geez, you’ve got taste like an old man."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"And this is why you’ll have to pay rent to use the Fortress, ungrateful brat."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Clark grinned wide and Bruce had to grin back, Clark’s smile was wide and clear and real and damn, it was good to see._ _ _ _ _ _


	12. Chapter 12

1  
Summer was grinding to a sticky end, the days were thick and gluey and the nights not much better. Lex was restless, jittery, not quite sure why. An unsettling feeling of almost constant longing made him wish for Excelsior and what was, even made him attempt to contact Vic. Vic, however, seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth—after that letter earlier in the summer, no word had come again. Try as he might, he couldn't find her. She might as well not have existed.

One night, right before dawn, in a fit of desperation or temporary insanity, he called Harry's house, and listened to his father shout, "Who is this?" for a few long minutes before hanging up and going upstairs to lay on the floor in his room, staring without blinking at the ceiling until his eyes ached and burned. 

He took to walking around the farm at night, certain that Uncle Jon's security measures made it safe to do so. He cared a little less about safety anyways these days. He just wanted relief from the horrible energy that filled him night after night. He'd even developed a routine, strolling along the paths through the gardens and through the orchards, the same path every night. He knew it so well he rarely used the little flashlight tucked in his back pocket. 

 

This night his mind was on the fading summer. He skidded over any thoughts of Harry. He was really was going to take the time to think about it, to take it apart and look at it from all angles and try to figure out why it hurt so much and at the same time seemed so distant and unreal, he just couldn't at this moment. At this moment all he wanted was to go to Princeton, get away from Dad and just…get away. This was his chance to reinvent himself. Get away from everything that was holding him down. 

He rolled his neck and tried to stretch the tension out of his shoulders. This avenue of thought was counter-productive to relaxation. He snorted. Yeah. Very much so. He moved on until he was walking along the fence that surrounded the herb garden and lingered in one spot, inhaling. He loved the scent, sage and basil and oregano—every plant here had been carefully placed and set and he could clearly see Bruce's hand in it.

Earlier when taking his walks, he'd begun to feel a presence…Bruce was behind him sometime, following him like a ghost. At times, he wanted to tell Bruce to leave him alone, at times it was comforting, that ghost hovering around him…what was it Bruce used to call him? Spooky? Lex could barely remember why they'd called each other that, something about Bruce being such a tough guy. Spooky…and he'd been…Casper, right. That's who they were, Spooky and Casper, best friends forever, until Clark took over their lives. He sighed to himself. Until Clark made their lives better, he meant, because it was true. Clark was the glue that helped to patch up the painful parts of all their lives. 

Poor Clark, growing up and no one noticing, still treating him like the little boy he'd been then. Treating him like an infant until he'd had to kick and scream so that they'd notice he wasn't a baby anymore. 

Lex stopped and leaned against the rustic style fence around the herb garden. Picked at it, peeling off slivers of rough wood, wondered how he was going to survive the next few days. When he left, maybe he shouldn't come back again. The shadows around him thickened, and then Bruce was standing next to him saying, "Please don't leave us," and Lex wondered for a moment if he'd said it aloud. 

Bruce touched him so lightly on the shoulder he could barely feel it and again asked him not to leave. 

Lex turned to him, studying what he could see of his face in the dim light. "I have to, don't I—school starts soon, and there's still a lot I need to do—"

Bruce shook his head. "That's not what I mean. Every night you walk around out here, wandering farther and farther away. You know, sometimes I follow you."

Lex smiled a little at that, and Bruce went on. "I've been following you because you scare me. I'm afraid that…. I'm afraid you might...try to _leave…"_

 _Oh? Oh!_ Lex said. _"Hell_ no! I'd never do that, that's—" and Lex stopped, angry, angrier than he'd been all summer long. He was shaking with fury when he snapped, "I would never do that to the people I love. Never!" 

"Okay, okay. I should have known that. It's just—I feel I pushed you—hard. I was afraid, maybe too much."

Lex was surprised that Bruce could even think like that. "I had no idea that you were given to introspection, Bruce. Trust me; if I could make it through everything I've had to deal with already, I think I can survive you," he said sarcastically, "It is good to know you care." 

Bruce flushed. "That's you being an asshole, isn't it?" Bruce asked. "Fine, I deserve it." 

They were quiet for a while and Bruce cleared his throat and said, "Clark is too young. I think. I mean…"

Lex leaned away from Bruce and stared at him. "Clark? Where the fuck did that come from? How does Clark even enter into this?" He tried for outrage but felt his face burn, remembering with embarrassment his pathetic attempt to justify to himself why it would be okay to…to touch Clark.

"Never mind, forget I said anything." Bruce sighed. "Life gets more and more complicated. I wish it were as simple as this." He made a sweeping motion of his hand as he spoke, taking in the gardens, and Lex stared at him. 

Simple? He looked down on the intertwining pattern the herbs grew in, in the moonlight the plants were mostly shades of gray and black and Lex snorted softly. Only Bruce would look at this complicated…thing…and see simplicity. "Really, what about Clark?"

Bruce leaned harder on the fence. "Clark has been…in love with you from the very beginning of time, I think. I thought it was some little kid crush, some hero-worship thing. But…"

He stared at Lex and Lex could see that he was working himself up to say something that maybe was too hard to speak aloud. Lex took pity on him, put his hand on his arm; meaning to stop him and Bruce seemed to gain strength from the touch instead, went on. "I'm jealous of that—so jealous that sometimes it makes me sick, makes me do things that I'm ashamed of." Bruce snapped his head up and said quickly, "I'm not ashamed of you—damn, I don't mean it like that sounds. I'm sorry for what I forced you into. I did, didn't I?" he asked.

Lex swallowed, "Well, no—I didn't tell you to stop, not really."

"But the way you are with me isn't really you, is it? I think you were punishing yourself maybe, like you thought you weren't supposed to want anyone after Harry? And then Clark was there and you're…you're a good guy. You felt bad about how you felt. So you let me. Do what I wanted."

Lex laughed, a little high and wild. "I'm hardly the person you think I am; don't you remember why I almost got kicked out of school? It wasn't 'cause I'm such a 'good guy'."

Bruce shook his head sharply. "Doesn't matter. You are a good guy whether you believe it or not." He looked hard at Lex. "Don't ever let anyone tell you different Lex. I _know_ you're a good guy. I _know_ you wouldn't hurt Clark. Not like that fucking bastard Sean."

Lex was instantly furious. "Are you sure Clark's okay, you're positive?"

"Yeah, just confused I guess, a little shook. Mostly because of me, I think. Sean just—he's a mutt, that's all. He's not a total creep," Bruce said a little doubtfully. "Besides, I scared the crap out of him." He said that a little firmer.

Lex threw an arm over Bruce's shoulder and said "Clark's a lot tougher than we give him credit for, more resilient. Maybe I should speak to him though, let him know that I love him too. Just not like that."

Bruce looked at him wryly. "So, what—you're going to lie to him?"

Lex sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

Bruce shrugged. He pressed gently at Lex, moving him back from the fence. "We better head in, it's going to be light soon, and I'm helping at the plant this morning."

Lex nodded and stepped back. He looked up at the still dark sky, a few stars glimmering in the blackness and then at Bruce. "It's my turn." 

"Okaa-ay," he said and gave Lex a puzzled look. "Your turn. For what?"

Lex smiled, held out his hand.

Bruce looked at Lex, his hand, felt a decision rather than made it. He let Lex take his hand. 

2  
Lex pulled him closer, put his hands in his hair and smoothed it down, stroked lower, clasped hands on the back of his neck. His breath was a warm stream against his cheek, bent his head to him and bit his neck, worried tender skin between his teeth until Bruce was panting slightly. This was different, the whole feel of it was so different—he hadn't touched Lex yet, hadn't moved and he was so hard. 

He reached for Lex, brushed fingertips against him and felt he was just as hard as he was. Lex whispered slowly and clearly, "Suck my dick." 

Bruce groaned. "Oh no. I can't." His knees were trembling; Lex licked his ear, fucked it with his tongue and scraped nails over his tee-shirt, teasing his nipples until even the touch of the cloth was too much. It was torture—perfect torture. When Lex scraped his nails next along the length of his erection he shivered and grunted, locked his knees so he wouldn't move and when Lex dropped his hand, Bruce whined in disappointment until he felt confident fingers move over his skin, up the inside of his thighs, sticky and hot and so exciting because Lex wanted to touch him, Lex slowly edged fingers up the legs of his shorts until he was touching him, feathery touches over his balls, fingers sliding back and just pressing the suddenly sensitive opening, and he whispered again in Bruce's ear "Do what I tell you to do," and a clear vision of Harry getting fucked from behind, Lex in him and fucking him hard filled Bruce's mind. "No, I can't, I can't…"

"Don't tell me you can't." One hand went to his hip—jerked Bruce closer, now fingers circled squeezed his dick, thumbed the tip, slid thick warm fluid around the crown and he said again, "Suck my dick."  
Bruce howled, "I can't—if I move--" Lex squeezed and Bruce came so hard he felt like he was dying, come splattered his stomach, Lex's hand, dripped and ran down his leg. He folded, dropped forward and hung in Lex's arms. Lex held him close, one hand on his neck and the other hand…Bruce shuddered again as he watched Lex lick it clean from the corner of his eye. Lex wiped it dry on Bruce's tee-shirt and Bruce grinned weakly. _Figures._

Lex smiled. "That's a little more like me."

Bruce nodded, his head still tucked on Lex's shoulder. He drew a deep breath and dropped to his knees. Lex started to hold him back, but Bruce batted his hands away and as he slid to the ground, pulled down on Lex's shorts until his dick popped free. Bruce grinned and grabbed it, rubbed the velvety heat across his lips. 

He watched Lex watch him, slid it in and out of his mouth, loving the stretch of his lips around the thick length, stopping to suck and lick broad stripes over the smooth head, over and over because it felt so good and when Lex began to whine in frustration, he swallowed, forced his dick down as deep as he could—Lex came, sharp quick thrusts into his throat, sharp cries that Bruce knew would carry on the morning air. By the time they'd both stopped shivering and groaning, gray light lit the fields and was chased by hazy salmon peeking at the horizon. 

Lex grabbed a handful of Bruce's hair and used it to pull him away from his dick. Lex looked down into his face, and Bruce shivered. "Fuck…" he moaned, touching his swollen mouth gently.

"Yeah," Lex said and kissed him, a soft lick of his tongue against the heat and tenderness of his lips. Bruce smiled. And winced a bit. His lips felt hot and swollen and when he licked them and looked at Lex, it made his dick twitch. It was a little painful, and it was entirely good.

3  
Lex was gone, promising to call as soon as he was settled in--Clark was off doing something, hanging out with Whit or Pete or something. Off being all thrilled about high school. 

Bruce tossed and turned on his bed, fall was still pretending it was summer. His sheets were hot and damp and he was sticky. October couldn't come soon enough, he couldn't wait to pull out sweaters and jackets and shiver instead of melt. .

Swear to god—it'd been the longest, crappiest, most fucked up summer on record. Pretty much he'd been a king-size dick the whole time, he knew it. He was stupid lucky that his brother was as good as he was…if he'd been in Clark's place, he'd have beaten the crap out of himself. And speaking of Clark shouldn't he be home on a school night? It wasn't fair. Younger kids always got away with murder. He yawned. The folks were getting old—they were probably too tired to ride herd on Clark the way they had him.

He yawned again and flopped over onto his back, kicked off the sheet sticking to him. He'd never get to sleep in this heat. He really needed to beg Pop to get air-conditioning. He sighed deeply. No doubt about it, Pop was cheap, call it what you wanted--thrifty, frugal—all it really meant was Pop, good guy that he was, was just painfully, painfully cheap. 

His eyelids fell lower and lower as he tried to imagine big blocks of ice and glaciers and snow and mountain lakes full of cold water but naked Lex kept rising up out of the water, defeating the purpose of his fantasy. His dick made a little movement of interest but his hands were too heavy to lift….

_He was standing on the shore, cool wet sand between his toes. It felt great, and he thought about stretching out on the sand. He could hear the waves sweeping the beach but he was facing away from the water, towards the hills. The beach stretched both ways as far as he could see, nothing but sand shimmering in the heat. Other than the sound of the water it was quiet, and getting hotter. He wiped sweat from his forehead and thought about walking up into the shade of the forest above the beach._

_Instead he walked further down the beach looking for Clark and Lex was walking next to him and he felt some surprise because he couldn't remember him being there before. A few feet away Clark played with a little pile of rocks in the sand._

_"I'm making a cave," he said and his face was round and sweet, and so serious. Clark's hair curled, wet with sweat, around his forehead. Bruce wanted to wipe Clark's face but he didn't. He just nodded. Lex said nothing, he smiled at him and then the sun was high above them, and the air was hotter and dryer. Clark stood, brushed his hands off and walked over to them_

_The closer he came, the taller he got—like stop motion he grew older and older. Bruce realized he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was so tall. His hair touched his shoulders and his eyes were blue, like Lex's. He was looking down into Bruce's eyes, gave him a little handmade wooden bird, like something his mother would have bought and he felt a little thrill—maybe Mom was here, he should look for her._

_Clark was speaking to him—_

_"What?"_

_"Keep him for now," he pointed at the wooden bird. "But I'm going to want him back."_

_Lex turned around to face them at his words and Clark leaped into the air and was gone. Bruce stared after him. Lex touched him and he turned. He had his mouth open; he was speaking, trying to speak. Bruce felt a shiver of expectation run through him. "Yes?"_

_Lex kept trying and Bruce felt more and more anxious, thrilled, and hotter as the sun blazed brighter, "Yes, what is it? Lex?"_

_The sun came right down and touched the beach, everything exploded in a white glare, an ear-shattering roar as fire rolled over them—_

Bruce woke up panting, sweat soaked and tangled in the sheet he'd yanked off the mattress in his sleep. He dropped back, still panting. That had been…weird. It'd been a long time since he'd thought of his mother. He wasn't even sure what had happened in the dream now, just that somehow his mother entered into it, and fire and death, maybe…he shivered in spite of the heat, straightened out the sheet and tried to go back to sleep.

BWLLCK

1  
 _January 30, 19___

_Dear Clark,  
I wanted to call you but it's hard to find a free moment to get to the phone and usually there's a line, so I'm writing you instead. I'll call—someday. (frown). I'm in the library, supposedly studying. How is life, how are you adjusting to high school? _

_I'm fine, studying a lot. I guess until I get used to all this it's going to be stressful. I see the upperclassmen strolling around like they own the place and I want to kick their asses. But I don't and you know why? Because they're bigger than me._

_Maybe you should move up here and be my bodyguard?_

_I hope everyone is okay, and I miss you. I'm dropping this in the mail right now and when I have time, I'll write you a proper letter or call. Promise._

_Love you so much,  
Lex  
* * * *_

_February 15, 19___

_Dear Clark,  
Let me see if I can put this to you in a way you'll understand. I do care for you, very, very much, and one day I hope to have a relationship with you, with everything that involves. But you have to try and understand the reality of what it means that I'm older. For one thing, I have much more experience. It's clever of you to infer that that's the reason this would work. But honestly Clark, to say that you trust I'll know when to back off? That's putting all the responsibility in my lap. _

_Sorry to disappoint you Clark, it doesn't work like that. Not for me. It pains me to confess, I wouldn't back off. I'd want to, I'd mean to, but you are just_

_Clark, don't ask me to take control. You have to accept that this is the way it's going to be until you're old enough. ~~You think I don't wake up in the middle of the night too, so hard I can't stand it and thinking of you?~~ Don't let anyone see this letter, okay?_

_If I had you now, I wouldn't let you go. You've barely begun high school, love. Live a little first. With me, you wouldn't have the life you should be living, the life of a normal, average high school kid. And a normal life is something I want you to have. I hope you know I only want the best for you, always._

_Love you so much,  
Lex  
* * * *_

_Clark,  
I burned the letter you sent. What the hell were you thinking?   
Lex  
* * * *_

_March 19, 19___

_Dear Clark,  
I'm glad Bruce brought you up here; glad we got the chance to talk. I just need to make sure you know what we talked about hasn't changed anything for me, know it in your heart—it makes no difference to me. I've always loved you, and no matter what else you are, it's most important that you're Clark._

_I think it's so typically kind of you to have wanted me to think we were the same but the fact that we're not different in the same way changes things not at all. I have to admit though, I'm curious. Have you ever tested your limits, do you think you can be x-rayed? It's a good thing Uncle's got money—faking those medical records and all must be a bear. I'd love to see those. And if I'm curious, Clark, imagine other people, people who don't know you or love you? To what lengths would they go to satisfy their curiosity? Do you understand now why your parents wanted to keep your secrets secret? This isn't something we can share with outsiders. We're the only ones you can really trust with your life._

_Remember, you have to be careful. People want to take apart what they don't understand. They justify their need to destroy something they don't know by calling it a desire for knowledge._

_If something happened to you, I'd die. I love you so much._

_P.S. I don't think I was ever happier to have a chaperone as last Sunday. Please don't tease me like that, for God's sake; I'm trying to be good.  
Yours forever   
Lex  
* * * *_

_April 11, 19___

_Dear Clark.  
Yes, I want you to do stuff like that. I want you to go to the movies with friends, go to concerts. I want you to enjoy yourself, okay? Don't feel guilty. I don't tell you about all the great fun things I'm doing because I'm working all the time. Professor Grant is a slave driver, but I'm learning a lot. He's an excellent teacher, and he makes chemistry even more fascinating, and a pretty interesting person too._

_Go out, have fun, and maybe I can get some time away around Easter.  
Love you so much,  
Lex  
* * * *_

_May 8, 19___

_Dear Clark,  
I called this weekend and Bruce told me you guys went camping. That's cool. I hope you had fun. I'm really sorry Chloe threw up on you. Wood smoke can mess with you some times. (haha, not laughing at you really not) Really, it's great. Wow, Aunt Martha and Uncle Jon must trust you, boys and girls together out in the woods all alone. _

_Or do they know you're not likely to get in trouble with girls?_

_Professor Grant took some of us out for lunch last week. He's so funny; he had us dying all through the lunch. Best of all he paid for it. Free food—can't beat it!  
Love,   
Lex  
* * * *_

_Hey Clark,  
I wasn't trying to be snotty with that remark about girls. I was kidding a little but I see that I have to be careful how I express myself. As for Professor Grant, he's my teacher and that's all he is.   
I imagine that college life is very different than high school life. I'm sorry you don't understand.   
Lex  
*****_

_Forgive me please? Sometimes it's a little hard for me too. I miss you so fucking much. I'm leaving in a few days. Dad's taking me overseas with him. We're going to Paris. Doesn't that sound like a good time? I'm coming home for certain after the Paris trip. I should be back before Bruce's graduation. I know I make promises a lot, but this one I plan to keep.  
I love you more than you know.  
* * * * _

_May 25, 19___

_Dear Clark,  
Paris was horrible, and my dad and I had a really unpleasant time, we argued non-stop. He wants me to go to Met U when we come home. It's a great school but I have so much going on here at Princeton and so many friends._

_What the hell, he's done it to me before. Besides, Bruce would be there and I can always make friends again, right?_

_I dreamt about you last night. Let's just say, I'm glad I was in the room by myself. (wink)  
Love you!  
* * * *_

_Clark, oh my God—  
Don't do that to me again! Everyone in the post office looked at me like I was crazy! Where did you learn those kinds of things? Do I have to kill someone? What are you doing at home? I'm coming back for Bruce's graduation, come hell or high water. When I do, I might not be able to hold back. I dream about it, I want to lick every square inch of your body, I want to suck your dick; I want to make you come so hard you pass out and then do it again._

_Don't write stuff like that to me, see what happens? And hell no—no phone calls! That's out of the question!  
I love you!  
* * * *_

_Love,  
I'm so, so sorry, but I probably won't make it until after Bruce's graduation. Dad wants me to work at LuthorCorp the rest of the summer. I have no choice. I'll call you when we get back stateside. I will be there, just not for the graduation. I'm sure he'll give me a few days to stay with you before I have to go to work.  
Yours forever.  
* * * *_

 

2  
Whitney and Clark and Pete and Lana were sitting in the booth in the window at Mario's, waiting for Chloe and a friend of hers who wanted to meet Pete. 

Pete worried at a rip in the red vinyl seat, and Clark teased him about being nervous. 

Pete snorted. "Of course I'm nervous. You'd be too, if Chloe were bringing you someone _she_ approved of. The chick's probably part bulldog, or something." He looked at them. "What? What—I meant tenacious like a bulldog, you know—like Chloe is, not looking like one, sheez." He grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth, chewing emphatically. Whit laughed and Clark grinned and quickly grabbed another slice himself.

They talked though bites of cheese pizza, and gulps of coke. Clark watched the tin plate the pizza sat on, judging how many slices he could swallow down, and caught Pete eyeballing them too. They snarled at each other and Lana rolled her eyes.

"I know you guys are not going to fight over pizza," Whit said. 

Pete nodded. "Oh, yes we are—Clark will eat all of it if someone doesn't stop him first. I'm just looking out for my own, seeing how I helped pay for the pizza."

"So did I and I should get my fair share," Whit said, "And not just whatever crusts you don't want."

Lana said, "Whit, you can have my slice, I'm full."

Pete looked at her in astonishment. "You haven't even eaten one whole slice. How can you be full?"

Clark silently agreed with Pete—she probably just didn't want to eat in front of Whitney. That would ruin her image as…as…a cardboard cutout. He smiled, amused at the thought.

Whitney smiled back at him and scooted a little closer to Lana who dipped her head slightly and gave Whit a tiny smile. Clark smiled again. God, what he wouldn't give to just push her off that bench. 

They each emptied their pockets at Whit's urging and picked out whatever quarters they had, and pumped them into the little players at each table. After a lively debate over who could choose what, they settled back to wait for their choices to play. 

"So…first year of high school almost down." Whit grinned around the table.

"So…what?" Pete said. "I'm ready for next year—bring the honeys out!"

Clark nodded. "Yep, next year, he might actually get to touch a girl."

Pete threw a straw at Clark's head. "Fuck you Kent! Besides, I'll be touching a girl plenty, tonight."

Clark yelped, "Hey, watch it—you could put my eye out!"

Whit agreed with Clark, "You can't go throwing straws willy-nilly, Pete, Clark needs those eyes."

"The fuck—willy- nilly? What the hell does that mean? Anyway, sorry Kent," Pete said, "That was rude of me--you need _both_ your eyes to check out the honeys."

Lana made a small noise of irritation and Whitney instantly turned his attention to her. Clark watched and wondered, was Whitney able to see her the way he saw everyone else? Clark was willing to bet he couldn't, or else…maybe he was just seeing something no one else could. Whitney turned back to look at Clark and the grin on his face dimmed a bit when he caught Clark's eyes. Clark blushed and quickly asked Lana if she'd like an ice cream. Whitney smiled again. Lana turned Clark down just as he'd expected her to, and Pete and he went up to the counter to order cheese fries.

Whitney came up after them and asked Clark to come to the restroom with him---he wanted to ask him something. 

Clark followed Whit into the boy's room and waited for him to tell him what he wanted. 

"Sooo, guess what I did?" And turned bright red. 

Clark stared open mouthed at him. "You got high! Oh my god Whit—did you smoke grass? Lex knows about that—he says not to—what was it like—" Clark realized he was babbling when he saw Whit tilt his head and stare at him. "Um. Sorry. Not high?"

"No!" Whitney waited a beat. "Finished?"

Clark nodded. "Okay, yes, what is it?"

"I..."

"Oh my god, you had sex—Lana had sex with you? What was it like?"

Whitney turned around and headed for the door and Clark grabbed him. "Sorry, sorry! Okay, shutting up—tell me!"

Whitney grinned and leaned against the sinks. "Okay, between me and you, it was pretty damn good."

"Was it? Like—how, if you don't mind me asking, I mean—I guess that is kind of  
personal—"

"Wow," Whit said, "You're such a girl. Most guys would just be all over the sex part, hell with the personal. 

Clark waited, arms folded, glowering at Whit.

"Yeah. It was like… way better than jerking off because there are parts and things to touch, and wow, sound…it was like. Better. You'll find out. I'm telling you Clark, kissing him might have been good, but this…"

"I…who? Kissing…I didn't tell you about…oh, I'm not getting near Sean again."

"Oh please—who the hell is talking about Sean? I mean Lex and the kiss you _didn't_ tell me about."

 

Clark threw his arms out and glared at Whitney. "Why don't you just admit you can see the future?" 

"Don't be stupid Clark," he said as the headed out of the restroom. "No one can see the future."

3  
Clark walked back home from the movies by himself, thinking over the events of the night. He was puzzled and confused and not a little upset. 

The movie was the second scariest thing that happened to Clark that night. He was sure he'd never forget that giant fish snatching people out of the ocean with a gusto that surpassed Pete on "buy-one-slice-get one-free" night at Mario's. He'd shivered with tension as the music thundered in the theater, a relentless beat that had him yelling with the rest of the crowd when it crashed to a halt with the appearance of the monster. He'd laughed at himself, just like everyone else, and Chloe had practically climbed in his lap at that point. 

He sighed. She was still crushing on him, and he felt awful about it. She claimed that she thought of him as a brother, but he doubted that. He should just tell her, he sighed. It was just…hard to take that first step. 

There they'd been, Chloe on one side of him, hands locked around his arm, and if he wasn't more than human, he'd probably still have no feeling in it. Whit had been on the other side, wrapped up in Lana. She'd spent the whole film nearly in his armpit. Clark stopped and shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about her in a negative way. After all she was Whit's girlfriend…Clark stopped and swallowed. Yeah…well, she was a perfectly nice girl. It was just that every time she'd screamed and shoved herself tighter under Whit's arm, she'd also knocked Whit into him and after a while, Whit had been leaning on Clark and then his hand had gotten trapped between their legs. 

It got scarier after that. Because every time Whit had moved his hand, his knuckles poked him in the leg, right above his knee. And they were so…hot. Clark had felt them, each separate knob of bone, burning into his leg. Clark had feel his face getting hot, and no matter how he'd tried to squirm away, his hand just stuck in there, tighter and tighter. Every little shift of Whit's hand had made him blush more, get hotter, a little breathless. He'd tried to concentrate on the movie but all he could hear was Whit breathing. When Whit's fingers had moved again, they'd rubbed up and down and they'd pressed a little harder. After a few minutes, he'd horrified himself by pressing back. They'd push, Clark would push back, they rubbed and Clark had eased his leg up and down against Whit's knuckles and gotten hard and started to sweat, equally turned on and horrified that he was doing it there, in front of his friends, in front of Whit's girlfriend….

When he'd glanced over, he saw that Whit was kissing Lana; kissing her like they were all alone. Clark blushed at the thought of it, how it'd made him harder and also made him feel like a fool—Whit hadn''t even known he was touching Clark. Lana had had her hand in Whit's lap; her palm was riding over the bulge there. Clark remembered how shocked he'd been, he'd glanced around to see if anyone was seeing what he saw. No one had looked, no one had noticed…so Clark had slid his hand into his own lap, squeezed lightly and stared at the screen. He'd squeaked when a hand covered his and automatically looked at Chloe. But it hadn't been her hand.

Whit had looked…like he was going to die when Clark caught his eyes... He'd slid his hand under Clark's and touched him, fingertips stroked him briefly, so light Clark had hardly been able to feel it, but it'd made his dick jerk so hard he'd groaned, and Whit had yanked his hand back.

Clark stumbled as the impact of that look hit him again and sent a jolt straight to his dick. What the hell was going on? He never thought of Whit like that before, Whit wasn't even on his mental list of guys he'd do in a heartbeat. He groaned. Before tonight, Whit never even registered with him—he was just his friend. _And_ Whit was straight. He was happy with Lana—he mooned all over her, all the time—he'd had sex with her! Why would Whit want anything to do with him? Clark shook his head. He must be mistaken; it had to have been some sort of accident. 

Still…the look on Whitney's face….

Clark shivered. He had to admit, what was horrible about the whole event, what freaked him out the most, was how much he'd _wanted_ Whit to touch him. He'd wanted it so bad—he still wanted it. Clark's eyes filled for moment. How could he have forgotten Lex like that? Been so unfaithful? He scrubbed at his eyes and let out a long shaky sigh. So, was this what Lex was talking about? Enjoy your high school life? Experience life? He wasn't sure that he wanted to experience this scary feeling. 

Clark looked up; he'd made it home and up the drive without even noticing. He walked up the porch steps and sat on the top one, folded his arms over his knees and rested his head on them. A thought popped into his mind, startling him. Whit had to be blocking things purposely—this was proof. He'd looked as shocked and guilty as Clark felt. There was no way he knew that was coming. Or did Whit know what was going to happen and felt guilt for not stopping it…Clark felt like his head was spinning, like he was trying to think backwards and forwards at the same time. 

He growled in frustration and stood. Should he tell Lex about what happened? He shook his head and headed inside. Hell no. No matter what Lex said about live and do and whatnot—he didn't need to see the future to know Lex would flip. He breathed out a small chuckle and dashed up the stairs.

He passed Bruce's door and hesitated. Maybe he could talk to Bruce…no. He had the feeling that wouldn't be a good or easy thing to do. He'd kind of like to keep Bruce as far away from his personal life as he could. After last summer, he wasn't sure about anything where Bruce was concerned. He mourned that loss of easy friendship and closeness he'd had with his brother. Clark sighed. Maybe it was something time would heal.

BWLLCK

1  
"Hey, Clark, you up there?" Whit hooked a finger in the hem of his tee shirt and pulled nervously. "Is…can I come up?" He squinted up into the gloom and considered taking off—he wasn't all that sure he wanted to have this conversation anymore. Before he could move, Clark was there; leaning over the loft rail and smiling one of those huge smiles that made Whit want to take Lana's picture out of his wallet and stare at it, really hard.

"Sure, of course you can! Why not…" and little red spots bloomed on his cheeks. "Ah. Ha."

Whit waited a second and when Clark still smiled, he took a deep breath and trotted up the steps. 

Clark was walking across the floor when he came in. "I think Bruce has some chips or something up here, somewhere," he said and rummaged through a basket next to the couch. "Ah-ha!" He crowed in triumph, "I knew he had something—he's always got stuff up here…there's some chips, Tootsie Rolls, Pop Rocks, NowandLaters…ew, apple, it figures… you want one?" Clark grinned and tossed a little box of candy and a bag of chips to Whit. "So, what's up?"

Whit coughed and Clark turned red but smiled on, resolutely crunching down chips, and Whit figured Clark was determined to ignore everything. Whit shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After the movie and all."  
"I'm a big boy, Whit. It takes more than a killer fish to scare me. I made it home fine as you can see." 

Whit lay back against the sofa. Well, if that was how Clark wanted to play it, he guessed he was fine with that…Whit tossed the little bag of chips from hand to hand, and decided he'd head out. He didn't feel like hanging out with Clark today. He wasn't sure what he felt like.

Clark shifted, fidgeted on the other end of the sofa. "I—how's Lana?" and he blushed again.

 _Fuck this._ Whit thought. _We can't do this._ "Clark. I'm sorry about the other night. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I _touched_ you. You looked right at me. Do you really want to pretend like it didn't happen?"

Clark nodded solemnly, his eyes wide and scared and Whit had to fight to keep from reaching out and…kissing him, or maybe punching him. "Clark! We can't do that. We're best friends, we do everything together. We can't just start lying to each other all of a sudden, can we?"

Clark pushed himself deeper into the corner of the sofa and leveled a look at Whit. "Why not? You've been lying to me, obviously, and it hasn't hurt you. All that Lana talk…or…wait a minute…is this why you keep warning me off of Lex? Are you jealous?" 

Whit froze, shocked, a little lick of anger burning in his chest. "Clark." 

Clark blushed and dropped his head. "Sorry."

"Look, I'm not jealous, and I really did want you to be careful with Lex—at one point it did seem like he was no good for you. Now, things have changed, and Lex might be the best thing for you. Besides you're older and he's more in control of himself and…and…" Whit stopped. He felt nauseous, scared. What he wanted to tell Clark was the most important thing he'd ever told anyone—even if Clark already knew, guessing something, and knowing something as fact were worlds apart. He looked at his friend. "Look. There's this…thing. I don't know how to start." His voice broke and he cursed himself for being so weak. Clark immediately slid closer to him, his big warm hand swallowing up his knee. Whit shoved the thought away and went on. "Remember Greg?"

Clark gasped a little. "Yeah. I do." Greg was someone they never talked about, any of them. He'd disappeared from the circle ages ago, and died not very long ago in mysterious circumstances—but not to them. They knew what had happened to Greg—they knew too well. He and Clark had been the last to see Greg, what he had become, a mutant, changed by the meteorites that were buried in Smallville's soil. 

"That thing that happened to him also happened to Lex, and who knows who else. Lex was just lucky he didn't become some horrible creature too. Those meteorites changed people…" Whit stopped and breathed heavily for a moment, trying to regain some control. "Don't, Clark—it's not your fault."

Clark was holding his hand now, unconsciously squeezing it slightly. He nodded, but the look of guilt didn't lessen. He was focused inward. Whit pulled at his hand, and Clark turned his eyes to him again. 

"Anyway," Whit continued, "you know someone else they changed. Me."

"You really can see the future?"

Whit sighed and a tear rolled down his cheek. "Yeah. Not everything, not all the time. But I can. And I don't know what will happen to me. Greg kept changing, didn't he, until he was a….a thing." He looked up at Clark and struggled to keep all the fear he felt every day from showing. "What if that happens to me Clark? What if I keep changing into something horrible, or if, if I go crazy, like Cassandra?"

Clark looked puzzled and then, "Oh, mythology—no, no Whit! Look at Lex—he's fine. He's not all bugged out—shit." He grimaced and Whit did too. "Yeah, well…you know what I mean." Clark stopped and looked away from him. "I thought you were going to tell me something else." He looked back. "But I'm glad you told me. I knew all along. I just wondered when you'd admit it."

Whit nodded. "I know, I just…I just didn't know what would happen if I told you. I really don't see myself—hardly ever. I knew at the lake we'd be friends for a long time—I knew you were different, but not more than that…I knew that I'd meet Lana, but nothing beyond that." Whit stopped and swallowed hard. "And I didn't know anything about…you know."

Clark seemed to realize he was holding Whit's hand and to Whit's regret and relief dropped it. And then, Clark's hand sneaked back over his knee, and Whit carefully made sure just his fingertips touched his. "I don't see anything about this--" he began and Clark leaned over and kissed him. 

Whit felt like fainting. The rush of sensation was so intense he gasped and his lips parted under Clark's and Clark took that as permission to explore. He pressed Whit's lips open with his own, and slid the tip of his tongue over his teeth, so that it rested under Whit's lip and when he swept it slowly along the underside, Whit thought it was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt. Whit moaned, and Clark made a little growl of approval. He moved in closer, his hands squeezing Whit's ribs. Whit put his hands on Clark's shoulders to steady himself. _ohClarkohClarkohClar—_ "Uhn--" 

Suddenly a brief sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes, and he yelped, heard Clark gasp. "Whit! I'm sorry!" and move back, but felt Clark's mouth still on his, and heard him say "Lay back." He heard Clark apologize and explain how he shouldn't kiss him and how much he loved Lex—and at the same time Clark was fanning out his knees, and settling between them so that they were laying erection pressed against erection—at the same time Clark leaped off the sofa, sat in the loft window wringing his hands—and was grinding him, slowly driving him out of his mind—and it was all happening at the same time, all at the same time, the same time—"Help. Me. Clark." 

Clark turned towards Whit, embarrassment and arousal making him wish he were anywhere else at the moment, but when he caught Whit's eyes, he was instantly afraid for him—Whit looked terrified. 

"What's wrong?" He dashed over to the sofa and grabbed Whit by the shoulders. Whit's eyes rolled back, he shook all over. 

"Whit—Whitney!"

Whitney opened his eyes and stared at Clark. His eyes swept the room like he'd never seen it before. He stammered before he was able to get a clear sentence out. "I think…I think I got stuck somewhere for a moment. Somewhere in between."

Clark gaped at him. "You what? Like… like Star Trek, when Kirk got stuck between dimensions and…"

Whit looked at Clark like he'd said something really stupid. Clark quickly shut up. 

Whit shifted, then grimaced and turned bright red. "Oh shit. I can't believe—shit."

"What? What's wrong?" Clark followed Whit's gaze, looked down…Whit's jeans were wet…"Oh—oh!" He let Whit's shoulders go abruptly and his head bounced off the barely padded arm of the sofa. 

"Ow. Thanks, Clark. Please finish knocking me unconscious so I can forget this as quickly as possible."

Clark felt terrible for Whitney, and maybe a bit, just a tiny bit, proud of himself. 

"Knock that look off your face, this—this doesn't have anything to do with you," Whit said and squirmed around Clark to get off the sofa "Not much," he muttered.

"Oh," Clark said and stared at his feet. He grinned anyway, and rocked to the side as Whit punched him. Clark looked up, grinning still and Whit tried to keep the annoyed look on his face. Clark nudged his foot with his own. "Much?"

Whit rolled his eyes. "Oh please," he huffed. "Just give me your damn shirt."

"Why?" Clark asked, already skimming off his shirt as he did, and handing it to Whit. Whit pulled his own tee shirt off and gave it to Clark.

"Because. Yours is longer."

Clark blushed. "Oh. Right."

They walked towards the stairs, and Clark asked if he'd mind if he walked home with him. Whit told him he didn't. "What do you think happened up there, Whit?" he eventually asked.

"Don't know." Whit shook his head hard enough to make his hair fly. "All I know is that I _don't_ want something like that happening to me again. And another thing, Clark. My instinct tells me not to continue where we left off, you know. It just…"

Clark nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's the wrong direction. You and Lana are a good couple, and I have Lex, or I will someday and—I'm really sorry for the, you know."

Whit said, "Clark, just be patient," and didn't speak again.

Clark nodded and wondered how much longer he could be patient. He'd liked kissing Whit. He loved Lex like breathing but…he'd really liked kissing Whit.

 

2  
Whit tossed and turned, twisting the sheet in his fingers, unable to sleep. Guilt kept him wide awake. Kept him pinned to his bed and staring up at nothing.

What he'd seen that afternoon in the barn, the two visions roaring in his head side by side like run-away trains, tortured him. They replayed over and over, dragging him back from sleep. He'd never had an experience like that before—never anything that you could call a ‘vision'. He'd had brief flashes, like catching a movie out of the corner of his eye--he'd had feelings, and combined with simple observation, it was easy to see the logical progression of things.

This had been different. Two horribly different visions of his life. In one he'd felt the kiss, and felt it go on to something more. They'd had sex, a relationship, lost friends and family, slowly gained them back, he'd joined the Marine Corp when Clark went off to college, wrote back and forth, been so in love…and he'd died. Somewhere in god-awful heat, deaf with gunshot, blind with fire, sick with the stink of burning meat, he bled out in the sand…in that life, he died. He'd seen that life, and this one—the one where Clark pulled away, apologized and backed away, into a life of sorrow and pain and terrible change. Whit felt a crushing weight on his chest. He couldn't see Lex in either of those worlds, but Whitney caught an echo of himself—married, wife and children, no Clark, but _alive._ And Clark was alone and dark and cold as ice. 

Whit pushed his face into the cradle of his arms. He could have changed things but he didn't, he chose the line that he didn't see his death in, he chose himself over Clark. He drew in a shaking breath and let it out slowly. Clark was strong; he was tough, he'd survive whatever the future brought him. He was certain of it. Whit sobbed again, and wished he could sleep.

BWLLCK

1  
Bruce jerked awake from a deep sleep. "Crap! I've got to get to the train station—my parents are waiting for me!" He jumped up, ignoring the groan behind him.

"Shit, shit!" He dashed to the sink, jammed a toothbrush in his mouth and brushed viciously— _crapcrapcrap!_ He spit and mostly hit the sink, _crap!_ ran over to the desk chair, snatched up a pair of jeans and hopped up and down on one foot, tying to slide into them quickly. He snapped them shut as he shoved bare feet into boots, held his arms up and sniffed—not too bad. He peered down at his tee shirt. Nothing on it, good for one more day. He grabbed a shirt from the chair. 

"Hey, that one's mine," a sleepy voice said.

Bruce ran over to the bed and grabbed the shirt rolled up on the foot of it. He kissed the occupant of the bed, quickly and a little off center from his cheek. 

"Can you straighten up a little before you leave, Kev—do you mind?"

"Who me? After last night? It's the least I can do."

Bruce smirked and shoved his wallet in his pocket. He picked up the room keys and jingled them "Should I leave them or not?" 

Kevin sat up and scratched wildly, dragged his fingers through his hair. He grinned at Bruce. "Yeah. Leave them." He swung his legs over the bed and reached for the shirt Bruce tossed to him.

Bruce grinned back. "Good. I'll see if I can get my parents to spring for lunch for you too, okay?"

"Cool, that sounds good. Now get out." He threw a pillow at Bruce and Bruce laughed, and ran out the door.

2  
Martha and Jonathan walked out of the train station, into bright afternoon sun. They were arm in arm and both of them smiling. This weekend promised to be an adventure for them. Not only were they looking forward to seeing Bruce, but they planned to be good to themselves in a way they hadn't for some time. Martha looked forward to the play they planned to see, dinners in good restaurants and spending time together, just the two of them, in one of the most romantic hotels that Metropolis had to offer. 

Jonathan watched Martha as she strolled along and marveled how beautiful she was, as beautiful as the first day he met her. Her hair glowed in the sun, her cheeks were pink, her eyes danced with excitement. Even after all these years, he still couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her love. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "What do you think—we have time for coffee before Bruce shows up? You know he works on a different schedule than the rest of us." He mock frowned and Martha laughed. 

"Oh, there's a coffee shop, we can watch for him from there—and there's a branch of our bank. Let's get a little extra money. You know Bruce isn't going to come out and ask but…. "

Jonathan laughed. "Of course not. He's just going to look like a wounded puppy until we offer out of the kindness of our hearts. "He smiled a little, thinking of his own college days. "And we better get money for lunch; let's find some place where they serve big portions." He remembered being hungry all the time. Jonathan sighed. It was all changing so fast. Bruce's first year in college, Clark a sophomore in high school—time was flying. It seemed just yesterday Bruce was starting high school, all nervous and afraid of doing the wrong thing. Now here he was, at MetU, and not a kid anymore, beginning to make his own way in the world.

3  
Bruce dashed down the street towards the station. He was nearly twenty minutes late—maybe more, he grimaced. Pop would be in full lecture mode already, and he'd planned that the day would go smoothly—and if he was lucky, lucratively. Not that money was important. He broke into a wide grin. Not much. He laughed as he ran across the street. They knew damn well he was going to hit them up. 

He was in view of the train station when he noticed the police barrier edging the block. Cops were directing traffic away from that section of the street and traffic was snarled around the barricades. Bruce looked over, wondering at all the police around the bank—had there been a robbery? He slowed down, finally stopping next to a young woman, crying and twisting her hands. She looked at him, but her eyes weren't really focused on his, she babbled as she wrung her hands. "I went to pick up lunch and—this happened. He's got them in there, he won't let them go."

"What—what happened?" Bruce asked and something cold clawed up his back…he gripped the young woman by the shoulder and shook her, gently, trying to get her attention. "What's going on?" he asked.

It seemed a dozen voices responded at once, everyone wanting to tell what they saw--

"He's holding the people in the bank hostage—my friends, my friends are in there—"

"Some freak in a mask—he's threatening to kill everyone in the bank unless they let him go!"

"It—it was clowns, they had balloons…and then…"

"We thought they were clowns, something for the kids…"

His eyes kept going to the familiar logo over the bank's glass doors.

Bruce shook his head and began to back away from the crush of people at the barricades. He needed to go to the station and get his folks; they must be waiting for him. Bruce turned, ready to walk away. He shouldn't make them wait much longer.

Shots rang out and the crowd screamed, and Bruce stumbled. For a moment, he was somewhere dark and wet and pearls flew everywhere and the sound of gunshots echoed in his head. 

Police were everywhere—the crowd surged against and back from the barricade and the pop-pop of gunfire rose above the shrieks. 

All dead, Bruce heard. All the hostages….

He fought his way back through the crowd, to the barricade. He knew. In his heart he knew, but he had to see. He threw himself at the barrier, his head pounding, almost blind with rage and fear. Hands reached out to stop him, he made ready to fight through, and a soft, serious voice said, "Don't do it, son."

A firm grip on his arm, warm and strong, held him back. He came back to himself and looked up into a square calm face. The brown eyes behind big horn rim glasses were full of sympathy. "Just wait, let us do our work, son."

Bruce nodded, kept nodding as the crowd surged against the barriers. Bruce felt as if he were being pulled along, as if he were drowning in the noise of sirens and engines and the shriek of voices. The doors of the bank burst outwards and he watched him being pulled through the gauntlet of police, the murderer. The murderer was grinning, wincing as the officers holding him yanked his arms viciously. His head swiveled from side to side as if he were searching the crowd, grinning—laughing when the hands holding him got rougher.

He was painted like a clown, pink streaks under the white where the makeup was smeared, a wild wig sticking out all over, strands pasted here and there to his face, his red mouth was painted into a too wide smile and nothing about him was funny.

Bruce jerked against the tight grip on his arm, and hated the hand that held him back, the press of people on all sides, hated the police for being in the way, but most of all, hated the monster being dragged through the street. What he felt was so pure, so intense it filled him like fire, made him feel dizzy and hot all over. Nothing made sense to him, nothing except the eyes that met his when the killer turned his way—flinched at the sight of Bruce. It was slight, but Bruce saw it. Fear. It rippled over the white streaked face and then—the head tilted back and a maniac smile twisted his features again. The look became gleeful, monstrous, possessive. 

Ten years had passed, and time had eaten any softness the face may have had, clown white obscured features but the eyes were the eyes of the man who'd killed his parents and now, had killed his parents again.

The man looked at him and licked his lips, his thick red tongue slid around them like he tasted something delicious. The last thing Bruce saw of him before they slammed the door to was the flick of bloodstained coat –tails.

4  
In the days before the funeral, Clark shut himself off from everyone but Bruce. He made sure that Bruce got up in the morning, made sure Bruce ate, that he slept at night. When Alfred called, he made sure that Bruce spoke to him. He called Lex and demanded that he come home, now, immediately. No excuses. He slept in Bruce's room, and Bruce wrapped himself so tight around Clark when he'd finally drop off to sleep that Clark was afraid to breathe or move.

Lex arrived the day after the phone call and things changed.

He spoke to Clark; told him how proud he was that he was coping so well and turned his attention and energy to Bruce. 

He took Bruce into his bedroom and locked the door behind him and Clark sat in his own room. He waited, silent and still, back pressed against the headboard and wrapped in the blankets. He watched his room go from pitch black to gray as the sun rose before he surrendered to sleep.

Late the next morning, the smell of coffee he hadn't made woke Clark and he made his way to the kitchen. Bruce and Lex sat silently at the kitchen table, both of them pushing untouched cups of coffee back and forth in front of them. Lex looked paler; Bruce looked a little more alive. Neither of them spoke to Clark, but when he sat at the table with them Bruce reached out, clutched Clark's hand and wouldn't let it go.

5  
The funeral was quiet, extremely private. The sun shone down on them, painting the grass brilliant green, the damp raw earth glistened. A little breeze wove tiny, cool, tendrils through the warm shade of the canopy and Clark was grateful for it; it was just warm enough that he was beginning to sweat in the winter-weight black suit he wore. He pushed his hair back, forgetting that the hand he used had held a bit of dirt in it just moments before. Lex leaned over and wiped the smear at his temple away and handed him the handkerchief. Clark nodded thanks, wiped his hand and realized—it was over. All over. His parents were well and truly gone. Tears welled up and ran down his face and Lex squeezed his shoulder.

A shadow dropped over him and he looked up to see Bruce in front of him, made expressionless by the dark glasses he wore. He looked almost threatening for a moment, and then his face smoothed out, he reached down for his hand and it was Bruce and it wasn't. This was a person he'd never known. This Bruce wasn't in mourning; he was beyond sorrow, so deeply in thought that the outside world wasn't real to him. He was turned inside and nothing Clark did would bring him back, until he was ready to face the world again. Clark tried to be patient but felt a little betrayed and alone. He felt like he was on the outside, that Bruce, no matter how much he touched him and wanted to hold him, was keeping him at bay while letting Lex in. 

6  
Clark sat on the edge of Bruce's bed; still in the black suit and tie he wore to the funeral that afternoon. Bruce lay with his head in Lex's lap, eyes closed and an arm wrapped around his leg. Lex reached over and undid Clark's tie, pulling it through the collar and wrapping it around his fist. He touched his thumb to Clark's cheek and smiled at him. Clark could see exhaustion etched into his features, making his eyes dark, painting gray shadows under them and he felt again that weird twist of guilt and anger.

"Clark," he asked, "Can you make some tea, maybe some toast or something?" 

Bruce turned his head and mumbled into Lex's leg, "I'm not going to eat. You can't make me." 

Clark swallowed a sound, a noise between a sob and a laugh and Lex looked at him, mistaking Clark's expression for exasperation. Lex shook his head, smiled and rolled his eyes. "Get the toast, Clark. We'll get him to eat."

Clark put four slices of bread into the toaster. He put a full kettle on the stove and turned the heat on high. He sat at the counter, and leaned his elbows on the cool granite. Pop had put it in for Mom. So she could roll out piecrusts, nice and neat, on it. He trailed a finger around and around the counter, drawing pie shapes on the granite. When the kettle began to whistle, he slid off the stool and brought out the tin with the teabags from the pantry cabinet. He took three crockery mugs, printed with the name of the hotel they used to visit when he was little, out of the dish cabinet, put a bag in each one.

There were just a few teabags left. _I'll have to tell Mom we're almost out of tea…_

He sank down to the floor, cradling the can, and cried. He cried and worried he was taking too long. Finally, he stood, washed his face in cool water and loaded a tray with the cups and dry toast.

When he pushed open the door to Bruce's room, balancing the tray and pasting a smile on his face, Lex shushed him. "Asleep," he mouthed and pointed at Bruce. 

Bruce's sleep softened face made him look so young, content, almost innocent. Clark watched him breathe for a few seconds before putting the tray down. He bent over Lex and kissed him. He kissed him softly, gently, as if he were fragile, breakable….

Lex gasped like he'd forgotten how to breathe when Clark let go of him, reached out for him. "Clark…Clark…."

Clark eased Bruce carefully from Lex's lap to the bed. He pulled gently at Lex's hand, coaxing until he rose from the bed and followed Clark to the stairs, out of the house, into the barn. 

When they were in the loft, he pushed Lex down onto the sofa and frowned. "Please." He stood with his hands limp at his side, quiet and motionless. He felt like he was begging for his life. He was so tired that he couldn't say more, he just hoped that Lex would understand. And of course he didn't.

Lex shook his head. "You're hurting—the worst hurt you can have—this isn't the time," he said, and Clark sighed in resignation. He dropped down next to him on the sofa and put his hand over Lex's mouth.

"All I want is someone to hold me for a minute."

Lex blushed faintly and wrapped his arms around him then, eased back until Clark and he were laying full length on the sofa together. Clark moved down until his head was tucked beneath Lex's chin, and he could hear the steady thud of Lex's pulse, feel the beat of his heart. He pushed against him, searching for more heat. Maybe he could relax for a minute, feel safe and loved, at least until Lex ruined it.

"I love you Clark. More than anything. I thought about you all the time I was gone. I always think about you…" 

Lex smoothed Clark's hair, letting it run through his fingers, ghosting over his neck, and shoulders, stroking back to the crown of his head again. Clark sighed. _And there he goes._ he thought. Clark laughed a little. "Lex. You don't need to say you love me. We both know Bruce will always come first and it's really okay."

Lex froze. "I think you misunderstand what happened—"

Clark held him a little tighter and said, "Don't. Just hold me. That's all I want from you." Lex just kept talking, started to tell him that maybe waiting wasn't that important, that right now was important, and Clark let out a long breath. "I know you wanted me to have a normal life. So I did. I had sex with Whitney. So anything you do is okay. We're both okay." Clark had no idea why he lied, but once the words were out, he couldn't figure out how to unsay them. They just hung in the air, huge and stupid and making his head hurt.

Lex stared at him. He looked pale and Clark felt a wave of anger. Before he could speak, he heard noise on the stairs, and suddenly Bruce was standing there, yawning, peering around in the gloom blearily.

He seemed not even to notice that Clark and Lex were lying entwined on the sofa. "There you are, Clark. Come back to the house. I don't want to be in there by myself." He held out his hand, and Clark jumped up and took it, and they walked back to the house. Lex didn't follow.

Clark didn't speak to him about it the next day, even though he wanted to explain to Lex how stupid what he'd said was. It was just, there was so much to do, and so much Bruce needed, so he never quite found the time. And then Lex told Bruce he was leaving the next morning and Clark figured that he'd call Lex and tell him that he lied; Lex would understand that he just had some strange brain malfunction and they could go on from there. 

7  
Lex spent a week at school, thinking about what Clark said. About Whitney. He'd believed it at the moment because he'd been stunned stupid—Clark wasn't supposed to turn away from him, he loved him. It didn't take Lex long to come to his senses and to understand. It wasn't true; Clark would never do that to him. He'd said it more than likely out of retaliation for Bruce. But Bruce needed him and besides, it wasn't what Clark thought. Bruce had needed comfort and closeness that Clark couldn't give him. 

Lex frowned. He was sure that he could make Clark understand. He was a very mature young man, brighter and more understanding than most his age. Lex was sure that Clark would see the truth of what he had to say.

By the time he called and actually managed to reach someone at the Kent house, a few weeks had passed. Bruce answered the phone, he sounded harried and impatient. Their conversation was short and to the point. They were going to England; they would be staying with Alfred, his father's former butler. Bruce had things he had to do. Clark was his ward, and would be leaving with him. Bruce told Lex he loved him, and he'd be welcome anytime and then the phone went dead, leaving Lex with the dial tone. He shivered. 

Okay. Not the end of the world. He'd just have to wait a little longer to talk to Clark. When they were settled in, then, he'd talk to him.

It just never happened that way.


	13. Chapter 13

1  
"I don’t understand you. Why do you have to be like this? Why can’t you see that what I’m doing, I’m doing for you as well?" Bruce slammed his gym bag to the floor and yanked his coat off. "How hard can it be to do what Alfred tells you for _one_ fucking day? Do your work…go to school?"

Clark threw his boots across the room. "Fuck you Bruce! Why should I do what you want? All you want me to do is go to school and come home and have no fucking life! Just what _are_ you doing for me?"

"Look—I’m trying to help keep you safe--"

"Me safe? Me safe! Remember me--Invincible? All you did was take me away from Lex and my friends. I don’t know Alfred--he doesn’t know me or care about me." 

Clark jumped up from the small sofa in the room. He was angry now, determined to make Bruce listen to him. "That school—I hate it. Everyone thinks I’m stupid or—or--they make fun of me when they think I can’t hear and I have to go along with it, I can’t stand up for myself, Bruce. No one knows me. I’m sick of having to hide all the time."

"Try thinking of someone other than yourself for a bit, please? I’m working my ass off, studying everything I can that will help us avenge Ma and Pop, and—and--my mom and dad. Don’t be self-centered, Clark. I need your cooperation. Or don’t you care about what happened?"

Bruce changed out of his damp sweats. Clark watched him move; saw that he was heavier than he had been, more solid, muscular. Bruce was changing himself, remaking himself into some kind of weapon—and treating Clark like a liability. It made him furious. "I’m so sick of hearing that," Clark snapped. "You accuse me of not caring but you won’t let me help. You say you want to avenge them for the both of us, and then you shut me out at every turn. Why won’t you let me help, damn it."

Bruce said, "I’m going to shower. Alfred is going to have dinner in a half hour. Please, for once, be ready to sit down with us."

"Are you listening to me at all?" Clark was frustrated into shouting at Bruce. "Or do you want me alone and friendless and loveless so _you_ can feel normal? You’re probably out screwing around every time you’re not here!"

Bruce swung around toward Clark and his eyes were ice cold with anger. "That’s it? You think there’s someone who’s keeping me from you? From my work? There’s no one. It would be selfish and stupid—and—having someone is not in the cards, not now, not—it’s dangerous," he muttered, "it’s distracting. It divides your attention and then people die…"

For the first time since the funeral, it occurred to Clark that Bruce might be suffering from more than loss. Guilt might be driving him this hard, as well. "Bruce," he said as gently as he could, "It wasn’t your fault."

"Clark," he growled, and held up his hand, warning him off, but Clark pushed on, sure he was on the right track.  
.  
"They didn’t die because you had a life--"  
.  
Bruce focused completely on Clark. His expression was a strange combination of rage and fear; there was something in his eyes Clark had never seen before—he took a step back; even knowing that Bruce couldn’t hurt him didn’t stop him from flinching. Bruce leaned closer and Clark swore the space between the two of them wavered like desert air. Bruce snarled, "Shut. Up. Now." 

Clark dropped down on to the sofa; and threw his arm over his face; angry that he’d worried about him for even a minute, angry that he felt fear of Bruce.

"Sure, No problem, whatever you want."

Bruce turned away. "Good. Be dressed by the time I’m out of the shower."

2  
They left England, traveled to France. Bruce studiously attended university and studied Savate, in the studio and in the street. 

Clark went to an American school. He had nothing in common with the students. He spent most of his days alone, and his nights waiting for Bruce to come back to their small apartment. Some nights Bruce was cold, distant as he’d been in the days before and after the funereal. That was the Bruce he expected. Some nights he was surprised by a Bruce who was talkative and excited, and dragged Clark back out into the streets with him. He’d take Clark places he couldn’t imagine existed in the day, into a world in which all he knew was turned upside down. Clark saw a Bruce he didn’t know. He began to realize there was something dark that lived under the skin of everyone, something that was very, very different from the face they turned towards the sun.

3  
The next move landed them in Germany and another small apartment, in an old part of an old city. It felt dark and dank, as heavy with age as the mountain it nestled against. Clark was always cold in it.

This time, there was no school for Clark, only a tutor that Bruce hired to teach him the language and keep him up on his studies. There were no late night explorations, no wandering the streets and watching the sun rise…Bruce kept his days to himself, his evenings a mystery. Clark and he fought often, a quiet, intense war of nerves that Bruce won more often than not until Clark just stopped fighting. Bruce was content that Clark was finally adjusting. Until he came home one evening and found them on his bed. 

Clark smiled up at him from the rumpled bed, hair black with sweat, curling around his face and neck. With one hand, the tutor held himself over Clark’s body; the other was paused in the act of pulling down the zipper of Clark’s jeans. His face was flushed, beads of sweat dropped on Clark, the pillow under his head. The man’s eyes were enormous, black with fear, and Bruce considered that to be an altogether sensible reaction.

In the blink of an eye, he had his fist in the man’s collar, yanked him up and off the bed. He had every intention of beating him senseless, and the first impact was painful and so satisfying, he wanted to do it again and again.

He realized Clark was watching him and felt a shiver of fear—the way Clark looked, so still, calmly smiling, anticipating….

Bruce hit the man until Clark finally rolled off the bed and stopped him. He helped Bruce throw him out.

BWLLCK

_back of a postcard of the I.G. Farben Building, Frankfurt_

_Lex,  
I need your help. I’m having trouble with Clark. I’m thinking he might be better off at home, with you, if it’s possible. Do you mind? It’s okay to say no. I realize I don’t really have the right to ask.  
Love,  
Bruce._

_PS. I miss you  
* * * * _

_February 21, 19—_

_Bruce,  
You fucker. You fucker. Finally I’ve got an address for you. You waited long enough. I’m angry. You have no idea how angry. You left me! I don’t know why I bother helping you. It must be love.   
Yes, send Clark. I’d be so happy to have him. You know, after all how I feel.   
I have my own place, I have room. _

_Please don’t hide from me again.  
I love you both,  
Lex  
* * * *_

_back of a postcard of the Natural History Museum, Bern_

_Lex,_

_Thanks. It’s okay now.  
B.  
* * * _

1

They were in Switzerland. The little hotel room was no bigger than a closet, but on the plus side, it managed to be bright, cheerful, cool even in the heat of the day, and Clark welcomed the sunlight that flooded its pocket sized balcony. When he wasn’t soaking up what sun he could, he slept, curled in the only bed. Clark slept deep; his dreams were dark, comfortless. 

Night after night he woke with parts of Bruce draped over his legs, his shoulders. Some nights he’d wake with Bruce pressed into his back, little whimpers threaded through the breathy snores let him know that Bruce was no happier in his sleep than awake. 

Sometimes, he woke up hard, a breath away from orgasm and trying to chase images that whirled away as soon as he opened his eyes. 

Mostly, he woke exhausted, with the feeling of having walked across huge bleak gray landscapes, always only one step ahead of some nameless hulking thing.

One night he woke, rising from the deep well of sleep with a groan that vibrated in his chest, and even with the press of Bruce against him, he felt lost in the dark, alone. He listened to Bruce breathe, trying to soothe himself with a sound as familiar as his own breath. 

Slowly he relaxed back into a doze, drifting in and out on the edge of awakening. He felt as much as heard the sound of Bruce’s steady deep thrum change to a hitch of breath that whistled against his ear, sharp, shallow breaths. He felt a growing hardness pressed against him, and warm breath exploding against his ear in startled bursts. Clark could feel Bruce’s thighs quiver with the strain of holding motionless, and suddenly a hot quick burst of air flowed over the back of Clark’s neck. The smallest of groans drifted on the edge of his hearing, and for a brief moment he was aware of a flood of heat against him. 

Bruce relaxed at once, all over, with a tiny sound of despair and rolled as far as he could from him. 

Clark imagined Bruce didn’t know he was awake and he was afraid to move, afraid to let Bruce know he was awake. He stared into the dark until his dick stopped throbbing and he could finally sleep again.

2

Thailand, Bruce promised Clark, would be their last stop before going back home. He promised, they’d be back in Metropolis in less than a month. He asked Clark to be patient and Clark struggled to be what Bruce wanted.

Bruce worked hard at the rickety table shoved against one corner of the room; he worked like a man possessed and in a way he was--he worked on the design for a suit he’d seen in a dream. It had come out of the darkness, blackness swirling from it like smoke, thickening, coalescing into flights and flights of bats and an eyeless mask had measured him, examined and weighed him…he’d woken, sweat damp, heart racing and with the certainty it was a message. He knew the direction now.

He worked all hours of the day and night, and Clark wandered farther and farther away, while Bruce told himself that he was completely safe. Bruce barely noticed that he was gone for days sometimes, or that Clark was nearly a shadow when he was home. He barely noticed that one month turned to one more, and one more….

On a night the same as ten or twenty or forty that had passed unnoticed, he lay twisted on his side, waiting for sleep in the damp narrow bed. Humid air filled his lungs, as usual ideas and problems designed to lull him into sleep filled his head. And not thinking about Clark lying next to him had long since turned into habit. 

"Notice me." 

Two words, and they exploded the world Bruce managed to construct, bit by painful bit, to protect himself against Clark. He was pulled around to face him, jerked away from the hot fan of breath over his mouth. "I—I—" He’d been hiding from it, digging himself deeper and deeper to do so and it still found him. Now, it was going to crush him...Bruce shivered.

Clark wrapped Bruce’s hand in his, so big, warm--he pressed it against his heaving chest and said again. "Please. Notice me." 

Bruce shuddered so hard the ancient bed creaked. He felt like all his will was gone, all his ability to reason. He felt like he was some other person. Someone else slid downwards, not him--curling his body around Clark, touching everything. Downwards… until he came to rest with his mouth pressed against the bulge in Clark’s cotton boxers. Tears squeezed out from under Bruce's lashes and he kissed and sucked at the rapidly dampening material that covered the hard curve of Clark's dick, listened to the groans that floated in the air above him. Bruce's thumbs framed his navel and his fingers fanned over the swell of muscle. He sighed, breathed in the scent of Clark, touched more skin as he peeled down the boxers, the soaking wet boxers. His lips and tongue teased the hair that trailed down to frame Clark’s dick. He laid his cheek against wet, hard flesh and sobbed, heard it echoed. He sucked Clark’s dick into his mouth as their tears ran steadily.

Bruce loved it all, too much, the weight and velvety smoothness on his tongue. The way the head slid across the roof of his mouth. When it nudged against the back of his throat he was desperate to feel more...and Clark’s hands flew up to wrap around his head, so tight, and pulled him closer.

It was the most perfect moment of Bruce's life.

Clark jerked against the wet sheets and cried out, Bruce cried and sucked him off, tears ran steadily as Clark held his head and fucked his mouth, crying out in pleasure or pain, or both…Bruce felt orgasm like a flash fire, burning him from the inside out until there was nothing left, leaving him shaking and moaning around the straining dick trapped in his mouth.   
Clark howled when he came—filled Bruce’s mouth and pulled away, spurt the last of it on Bruce’s throat, his fist tight in Bruce’s hair as he slid his dick around in the hot, wet fluid.

As soon As Clark let go, Bruce rolled out of the narrow bed and dropped on the floor. He pulled himself into a ball, and laid there the rest of the night, ignoring Clark’s soft sobs.

3  
After that night—Clark refused to be pushed to the sidelines. He forced himself into every aspect of Bruce’s life, forced him to include him in his plan, change the focus from that of a lone man driven by the desire for vengeance to a team working to accomplish the goal. Bruce argued that what Clark wanted would twist his life out of shape and Clark laughed.

"How can wanting to be part of this ruin my life more than _you_ already have? Don’t you get it? You already made sure I can never have even an imitation of a normal life. "

"I know. I know what I did. Every day I regret it…"

Clark made an impatient, dismissive gesture, and went on. "Fuck that. A normal life was never in the cards for me, anyway. How could it be? And at least this way, there’s a reason for me to exist. I can use this—this freakishness to lay our parents to rest. And then…have you thought about what comes after, Bruce?"

Bruce shrugged. "I didn’t plan on living that long."

Clark looked at him and snorted, almost fondly. "Asshole. Listen…I have some ideas…."

 

They stopped trying to keep in touch with anyone—forgot how to care about anyone else, because there was no one else in the world who knew what they knew. They worked until they moved as one seamless machine and still it wasn’t enough for Bruce. He pushed down layers and layers of want and needs of his own, ignoring and compressing them like layers of steel--hammered and folded and hammered and folded until there was nothing left but the purity of his desire for vengeance. 

 

As Bruce sank deeper into himself, Clark turned outward. He was looking, looking for something that felt just outside his reach. When he found something close to what he wanted, he brought it home. He liked to watch Bruce work hard to not listen to the squeak of the iron bed, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, breath catching, releasing in a moan…the sound of Clark quietly laughing….

 

Bruce came into the room late one evening and silently handed Clark an American newspaper, folded to the business section. Far down the page, in small type reserved for interesting but not earth-shattering news, an article announced the marriage of Lex Luthor, and Victoria Harrison, whose fathers were Lionel Luthor of LuthorCorp and Richard Harrison of Harrison Foods Co. 

He waited, watched Clark read the paper and after, sat in the tiny courtyard of the apartment building with him as he burned it, page by page. It felt like a ritual, a cleansing of some sort. The burning pages cast an almost cheerful light, the flames leaping and racing as they ate up the print and floated off into the night.

They watched the sparks fly up and drank rice whiskey until Bruce was thoroughly drunk. They talked about the stars and the rent and the price of booze. They talked about a lot of things, but not Lex.

When Bruce began to tilt towards the earth, Clark dragged him back up the stairs into their room and then let Bruce push him onto the bed. 

He held Clark all through the night and told him how wonderful he was and how much he loved him and how it would soon be much, so much, better.

4  
Clark wandered through the market place, killing time, and waiting for the end of day. He’d found something that caught his interest, and found himself pulled along in the wake of another boy wandering through the market. He was in constant motion, knowing that he was being watched, wanted. He swam through the crowd, flirting, laughing, sucking on pieces of candy in way that made Clark hard—he smiled, enjoying the boy’s performance. 

He looked mixed, possibly an American or European father, he thought. The boy turned and pushed away the dyed red hair falling into his gray almond eyes as he did. He looked Clark up and down with a smirk before whirling away again. The silk pants and shirt he wore flowed like water as he walked, sandals accentuated his slim feet. He was tall, slender and moved like a snake, a constant sinuous wave of motion. 

Sexy. 

He reminded Clark of home. 

Clark caught up with him and whispered in his ear "how much," and the boy smiled. 

"Take me home and I’ll tell you."

5  
Bruce unlocked the door to the room, and heard harsh breathing and sighed. He put the bag of food down on one end of the table and kept his eyes away from the bed in the corner. He pulled the chair out from the table; grabbed one of the books stacked up there and tried to concentrate on the pages.

"Bruce…"

He kept his eyes locked on the book, tried to ignore his stiffening dick, tried to ignore the voice calling him. 

"Bruce," and Clark's voice caught and Bruce glanced over. It hurt to see.

Clark sat on the bed, legs wide, and held a slim boy on his lap. Bruce watched Clark lift him on and off his dick, and the boy’s head dropped to his shoulder, one slim amber arm wound about Clark’s neck. Green eyes, gray eyes—they pierced him. Bruce barely noticed that he’d moved from the desk, backed up until he hit the wall. His hands splayed over the damp gritty plaster, and strained to hold him upright.

The boy's neck and body were a single arch, down to his hips, where Clark’s fingers left red bruises on the delicate skin, gold and bare, hairless…he was shaved clean. Bruce’s fingers twitched--they knew what it felt like to touch skin so smooth--like skimming over satin, like warm marble.

Red hair fanned against Clark’s cheek as the boy’s head rolled to the side, eyes closed, mouth opened on Clark’s neck. Bruce bit his lip as slim fingers circled around the dick flushed rose-gold, began to stroke and Bruce was torn between watching Clark’s face and watching the boy bring himself off. 

"Bruce. Watch me." Clark whispered and Bruce nodded.

"Clark, oh…Clark." Bruce groaned as Clark fucked him, their eyes never left each other, even when Clark came inside the little hustler, he never closed his eyes, never took them from Bruce’s.

Bruce stood still, pressed against the wall as the boy collected his money and kissed Clark. 

Anytime, he told him and kissed Clark’s cheek. Next time, if his friend wanted to join in that’d be fine, he said as he buttoned his shirt. Next time a discount, he told Clark in his charming accent, and slid his sandals back on. He brushed past Bruce; the silk of his shirt ghosting over his arm, and Bruce closed his eyes. He kept them closed as he heard the door shut, floor creak; felt Clark’s heat blanket him, his mouth engulfed him. He shook to a mind-breaking orgasm, and bit his lips to shreds holding in a scream. Still in the dark, he slid down the wall. 

"Enough," he heard Clarks voice like a knife, "Enough. There’s nothing else we can do to each other. Let’s go home—now."

BWLLCK

1  
Lex had been in pain for a long time after Bruce and Clark disappeared. He was so angry at first that he refused to answer letters, and had decided that he’d take no calls from them, which as it turns out, didn't matter—calls never came, and the letters were few and far between. Time passed and anger faded and pain dulled, and now, when he thought of them, it was with a distant hollow ache.

He left Princeton and attended Met U just as his father wished. It was a cold, lonely place without Bruce. He had no one but his dad turn to and as time went by, he came to believe it was enough. 

He took the classes his dad wanted him to take. He socialized with his set. He dated the women his dad found acceptable. He lived a comfortable life in an apartment paid for by his dad and drove to whatever appointments his dad considered important in a LuthorCorp car. Every day was as structured and uneventful as the last, and every day ended with a phone call from his dad, a recap of sorts. Each conversation ended with some bit of wisdom. Every day.

2  
He yawned and stretched across the acres and acres of satin smooth sheets, back arching as he worked sleep stiff muscles. He woke the same way every morning, curled tight around himself with his fists clenched to his chest. It didn’t make for the most restful sleep, he thought ruefully and fanned out his fingers. He debated again about sleeping aids. His doctor had recommended them, but he hated the feeling of waking up in a muzzy fog worse than waking up stiff and achy.

His coffee and the post, and of course, his morning paper was waiting for him in the breakfast nook. Every morning began with the paper and coffee. Like clockwork—shower, dress, get breakfast. In some ways it was the best part of his routine, he thought, as he sipped and read, and checked the itinerary his dad sent. 

Every day. 

He sighed in exasperation, but he wasn’t all together annoyed. He’d come to find the daily list of things to do almost endearing, amusing…almost. He slid the sheet under the newspaper and picked up his mail. He tossed credit card offers and "You have won!" announcements to the side. Between the envelopes a postcard peeked, and his heart sped up. It was grimy and creased and had obviously passed through many hands but it was clearly legible. 

Bruce. Bruce wanting a favor, wanting to send Clark back home. To him. His heart beat uncomfortably fast and he hated how dry his mouth was. He put the postcard aside and continued with his morning routine,

Just before he left the apartment some impulse made him grab the card and shove it into his coat pocket.

From one end of the campus to the other, his hand kept sneaking into his pocket and worrying the edge of the card. It distracted him during classes; he spent the entire time composing responses to it in his head. He muttered and growled and made the people around him nervous.

Between classes, he met with his dad for lunch. Surprisingly, lunch that day was at a restaurant that was one of Lex’s favorites rather than one Lionel liked. Lex took that as a positive sign, and mentioned casually that he’d finally heard from Bruce…Bruce Kent? 

"Really?" Lionel looked interested. "Kent Farms is doing well. He has good men on his side. Kent Farms would be an excellent addition to LuthorCorp," he said thoughtfully.

Lex separated the various lettuces in his salad, pushing them around the plate. "Well, he asked if his brother could come and stay with me for a while."

Lionel cocked an eyebrow and watched Lex eat leaf by leaf of his salad. 

"That’s interesting. To have him in your debt…that’s not a bad thing. Would you mind, Lex?"

His tone of voice was so odd that Lex looked up. There was nothing he could see in his father’s face but he felt as if the man was intruding on his personal space. "I wouldn’t mind, no. Why do you ask? Are you afraid of rumors? Haven’t I been circumspect?" He threw his napkin on the table and pushed the plate back, most of the salad still on his plate. Lunch with his father was most often a laughable waste of food. A familiar ache in his stomach made him grimace and reach for the glass of water.

"I’m very public in whom I date as you well know, since you choose the dates and the place and—and everything…." Lex trailed off, already exhausted. "Any way, you don’t have to worry. I’d just be doing a favor for a …friend."

"As I said," he replied with an amused shrug. "Really, Lex, you’re way too sensitive. Learn to control that, son." 

Lex reached into his pocket and felt the softened edges of the post card. "I know. You’re right, Dad."

3  
It was a cool night, so Lex had a fire built in the fireplace. He liked watching the flames dance, the way they cast shadows; the way the mind tried to find sense in the shapes. It was like watching clouds. He got a clear flash of memory, of lying on the rocks and watching the clouds, calling out the shapes they saw. Bruce and Clark. He grimaced. Right. The postcard.

He wrote a bitter angry letter, accusing Bruce of using him, of casting his brother off the moment he became the least bit difficult. He invited Bruce to kiss every square inch of his ass, and to drop dead in a public and humiliating way. He demanded to know why would he want to send him Clark, when he took him away in the first place, and besides he knew Bruce wanted to keep Clark away from him, he wasn’t stupid, he knew Bruce was jealous and went on and on in this vein at a furious pace, in fact, wrote until his wrist ached and his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth.

Sat back and heaved a great sigh of relief. He re-read what he’d written, and nodded at especially good points. Well written, he thought. 

Lex stood and folded the sheets carefully. With a deep sigh, he threw them into the fireplace, and watched the flames dance across the sheets, curling and blackening them and flinging the ash up the flue. He laughed at himself as he watched the letter die. There was nothing he could deny Bruce—especially not where Clark was involved. He might try to ignore it or deny it to himself but he loved Clark, and he knew deep in his soul that no matter what was happening, wherever he was…he pulled out the postcard and looked at the smeared photo on the front…Germany or England or anywhere on the planet, Clark loved him back. He sat again at his desk, smoothed the postcard as flat as he could and grabbed a note card. He didn’t need a lot of room to write what he wanted to say. 

4  
He was excited, anxious, full of anticipation. He laughed at himself—he was in absolute danger of becoming bubbly, if he wasn’t careful. It wouldn’t do to have Dad endlessly lecture him on control.

He decided that room next to his would make a better bedroom than a study so he hired a decorator to make it happen. He spent an inordinate amount of time choosing just the right color for the walls and the linens. He wanted it to be…not plain, but relaxed, simple, inviting. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Clark in the same kind of stark dove and slate palette he’d chosen for his room. He ignored his mind trying to drag his libido over to the vision of Clark spread eagled on charcoal bed linens, rumpling them with his fists, his legs…

His decorator chose shades of blue, with a red accent. Lex felt certain Clark would like it. It seemed rustic, or so the decorator assured him. Rustic, homespun, whatever. To him, it said Kent. Comfortable, unpretentious—just what he wanted this room to be.

He ordered furniture and a laptop, he bought a game system that had yet to be released to the public—hopefully the kind of stuff a guy would think was cool, and waited for a response from Bruce. A week or two went by, and he arranged for leave from school and had a cabinet built to house the TV and dozens and dozens of DVDs for Clark’s room. Another week went by, and he drove his hapless personal shopper nearly insane, buying clothes for Clark, enough to fill the closet and the drawers. Sometimes he sat in the room, holding a shirt or a sweater and imagining that Clark had already worn it. 

So much time went by, he began to think he’d imagined the postcard. He took it back out of the drawer he’d tossed it in, so creased now that it was almost illegible. He began to carry it with him, just to assure himself that it was real. He slept in Clark’s room a lot; it helped to ease him during the wait. 

Lionel asked him to take over running a small import-export company they’d just acquired. He planned to ship his chemical fertilizer through the company and wanted Lex to solve some problems in management. Lex read that as firing everyone in charge and taking the heat for it. He was almost grateful for the distraction.

One morning, he received another postcard from Bruce, no return address on this one…. 

_Lex,  
Thanks. It’s okay now.  
B._

He held it in his lap, and ice filled him. Ice was preferable to rage, he thought. He needed to work---but later, later he planned to give in to the fury that lurked right behind his eyes. He started to rip the card in two, but instead, threw it into a ceramic bowl on the shelf behind him. After a moment, he threw the first postcard in the bowl with it, and went to bed.

 

A little more than a month later he got a card from Clark. 

_I want to come home._

The handwriting was crabbed and uneven across the card, so strained, it made his heart hurt. There was nothing on the card other than the pathetic little note. He turned it end from end, looked at the postmark and thought. He could find them—given enough time and money, he could find them. It probably wouldn’t be very hard to do. He looked at the bowl of cards—he imagined there might be a pattern if he looked for it. He could follow them, hunt them down…bring them back….

He sighed and tossed the card in with the others. If they wanted to come home, they’d come. Whatever it was that Bruce was doing, Clark must feel that he had to be there with him, or he would have said ‘Come get me,’ instead.

6  
Change kept him busy. Lionel kept him busy, kept him on his toes and he rarely had time for thought of his own. Occasionally, he wondered how the Kents were, and the odd postcard would arrive, to rip a little hole in his carefully constructed indifference. Clark’s tended to be sad; Bruce’s were mostly relentlessly normal, chatty.

 

He grimaced and turned to the window across one wall. He pressed the key that opened the blinds and listened to them whisk back on their tracks to reveal the skyline, bright with lights. Behind him, he knew, the soft lights inside the bookshelves illuminated the little drift of cards in the bowl. He resolved not to reread them tonight… If he had any sense, he’d toss them all away. Hell, he should have tossed them all away without looking at them. He was an idiot. So much time and so many partners later, and nothing essential had changed; Clark was still all he really wanted. The fact that he still received cards led him to hope that Clark felt the same, but there was no real way to tell. He figured it was only realistic to think that someone as wonderful as Clark had to have met somebody to love, some sunny, pretty person, someone that made his heart beat faster and made him smile.

 

As far as his own life was concerned, trying keep a bit of himself untouched by his dad required a lot of attention to the man. He found himself intrigued by what wasn’t there—what his dad wasn’t saying or wasn’t showing him. He was beginning to find that Dad was involved in some way or another in quite a bit of not-exactly legal dealing. He had the feeling what he did find was the tip of a very large and deep iceberg.

The company his dad had saddled him with was just that kind of thing. Why would the man go to such lengths to acquire a small and insignificant export business? And then, why re-tool the company to export chemical fertilizer instead of going through his usual channels? He noticed that even the fertilizer was another smaller company that didn’t carry the Luthor imprint. Something told him that anyone investigating the company from the outside would find no one but Alexander Luthor in charge…he smiled bitterly. Surely Lionel knew he’d be curious, would check into everything about the company. Lionel couldn’t think that he was so dispirited that he’d blindly go along with any program…Lex sighed.

No, certainly not. 

After all, it wasn’t as if he’d mindlessly gone along with the changes Lionel had made in his personal life, oh no. It wasn’t as if Lionel hadn’t shoved him into the closet without protest on his part, or as if Lionel had choreographed this ridiculous public mating dance he’d been going through. It wasn’t as if his dad hadn’t constructed a public view of him as totally foreign to his nature as possible, strictly for his own benefit, damn the cost to his son….

Lex knew. He and his father hadn’t come to any kind of understanding; and never would. His dad hadn’t finally come to approve of him in any way. He’d already written Lex off long ago. His only value to his dad now, was as a tool, to be used for whatever it gained him. No one mourned over the loss of a hammer, Lex thought. They just went and got another. 

He snorted and reached into his desk drawer, took a couple of pills from a bottle nestled in the back. With all the shit he dealt with daily, he felt he deserved the occasional vacation from vigilance. He laughed again, quietly, and carried the tablets to the little portable bar in the corner and poured soda into a tumbler, dropped a wedge of lime into it and held it up in salute to the skyline glittering in his office window. "Dinnertime," he said, and swallowed.

7  
Lionel and Lex were at their usual table in their usual restaurant. Lex was drifting happily on a soft wave made up of a little splash of alcohol and just a tiny bit of methaqualone, just enough to make the world a little…pillowy. He was chewing thoughtfully on a tickly leaf of red oak lettuce and wondering why anyone would want to grow red fringy salad when some part of his brain warned him to sit the fuck up and pay attention.

"…and marriage. You should be thinking of the right wife, Lex. Preparing yourself for the future."

It was a lovely day and butter yellow sunlight poured in through the multi-paned windows of the restaurant, lending a wonderful sheen to the dark wood paneled walls and the polished wood table top that Lex was not gripping the edge of. He was simply running his fingers over the grain.

"You know, son, this company—all my work, all of this, one day will—"

 _all be yours blah blah fucking blah—_ Lex kept a pleasant and interested expression on his face and thought about the night before, an experience that his father had made possible. It’d been the latest in a series of increasingly excruciating dates. Katherine was God awful boring and it’d taken all his will power not to face plant into his soup. Thank God for small favors—their waiter had been astonishingly good-looking and very friendly. And skilled. Such a hot mouth, such talented fingers…God, when he’d….

Damn it! Lex cursed inwardly _—fuck, drifting again—pay attention!_ He nodded and Lionel beamed.

"Excellent." Lionel beamed and lifted his glass to Lex in salute.

Lex smiled wide even as sweat broke out between his shoulder blades. Something bad had just happened because The Man was too fucking happy. _Goddamn ludes…_ Lex stroked the grain of the wood a little harder. "Say that again, please?" _Because I’d really like to know what the fuck I just agreed to?,/i >_

_"I’ll call Richard and let him know that you’d love to spend the weekend in Aspen with their family."_

_Richard…"Harrison?"_

_"Well, of course. Have you not been paying attention? Victoria will be thrilled to see you, I’m sure. I imagine you two have a lot to catch up on." The smile his dad bestowed on him was as wide and crocodilian as possible for a human to wear._

_Lex’s insides curdled. Victoria Harrison. Vic._

_Life could certainly be interesting sometimes. He fingered the little foil packet in his coat pocket, excused himself to his dad and made his way to the restroom._

_He locked himself in a stall and pulled the packet out and opened it. He picked up the little pills, rolled them between his fingertips and thought._

_It’d be so easy, so easy to feel this good all the time. Hell, he used to live half fucked up all the time at school, until—it was easy and God, sometimes it was so fucking good, letting all the sharp edges disappear—_

_Lex sighed deeply, flipped the pills into the toilet. They hit the bowl with a pathetic little ‘splook’ and sank to the bottom. With a tiny prick of sadness he flushed and waved. "Good-bye, little friends. It’s time to grow up again," he whispered._

__

BWLLCK

1  
Vic greeted him as if they’d just gotten out of bed together yesterday, as though all those silent years between them had never been. There wasn’t a hint of the person who’d ripped his heart in two with a careless and off-hand note at the end of a letter. Her behavior just reinforced his feeling that he was bound by his dad to spend a lifetime in a snowy hell with three of the most self-centered would-be Beautiful People ever inflicted on the planet. 

He reached into his coat pocket and for a second was dismayed, first that the little roll of foil in his pocket had become habit so quickly, and second that he’d forgotten he’d banished it from his life again. "I miss you, my little round friends," he muttered to himself. There was nothing for it but to pray the next few days weren’t going to end in bloodshed. And yes, Vic’s parents were still…well…her parents. Self-involved and barely aware of her, keeping her on a leash made of money. Pat did try to show interest from time to time, out of some stunted maternal instinct, and Vic treated her with a genial kind of contempt. Lex was surprised to see that they finally had developed some sort of a relationship. Richard was, as always, just Dick. 

Vic on the other hand…Vic was Vic, but a version that had matured somewhat. She was exactly the same on the surface, but underneath, there was a difference. She was older in ways that didn’t show.

He felt embarrassed to admit to himself—Vic had grown and he had just existed.

2  
The two of them sat in the Lodge’s lounge, sipping hot cocoa. It was a pleasant way to end the day; it had become almost a ritual with them. As always, a fire crackled in the circular metal fireplace that dominated the room, the scent of burning pine, aromatic herbs and cocoa laced with rum made the air seem even warmer, richer, and beyond the fireplace they could see the velvety black of night in the windows and the fire reflected back at them.

Lex stretched out and Vic tilted her head back to rest on her arm. He thought Vic looked incredible--as always--her hair was blonde and cut short these days, and curled around her face, setting off her eyes to good effect. He admired the way the ski pants curled around her like they were hungry for her; her sweater set the rest of her figure off to perfection. Fellow vacationers moved through the lounge, and he got a lot of jealous looks, plus a few speculative ones that made him want to laugh. Vic of course enjoyed it all. She spent her days there, networking, she called it, and he spent them actually skiing, which made him completely odd as far as Pat and Richard were concerned. 

Aspen was eye opening. Being there brought a change he hadn’t expected. He was actually having…fun. Their Lodge was full of the best, the wealthiest, the ridiculously famous, all doing the sort of things that people like that did, things that Vic lampooned with a lack of mercy that left him weak. He spent an awful lot of time laughing, and he was so grateful for that. 

Vic had a way of pointing out the idiocies around them, of skewering, and quite viciously, the pompous and arrogant. She did it to their faces, which Lex adored, and she did it to herself just as mercilessly, and that made him love her. The fact that she included him, that she made him laugh at his own arrogance without managing to make him feel worse about himself was priceless. In a way, he fell in love with her. Life had been every bit as vicious to Vic as she was to others, that much was obvious to him, but she didn’t speak about it, she didn’t play for sympathy, and Lex respected that. Likewise he didn’t tell Victoria about anything that had happened to him since Harry’s death.

One night, Lex convinced Vic to sit outside on the covered porch of the lodge with him, to just—relax. They sat together quietly a bit, and watched the moon climb higher in the sky. Lex reached over and held her hand, and she watched the moon, and curled her fingers around his. They talked about nothing important for a while, and then she popped a cigarette between her lips. Lex grimaced and she snorted. "Oh, spare me. Make yourself useful."

Lex grinned and reached for her lighter. "I assume you mean for me to light your cigarette…"

"Unless you don’t mind getting frostbite in sensitive places, yes."

She watched Lex carefully light her cigarette, and smiled in thanks. Sat back and began to speak. "I imagine life’s been treating you about the same as it treated me—otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Neither one of us is a stranger to a vicious fucking—not always figuratively," she said and looked at Lex, who stared upwards and didn’t meet her eyes.

"Nothing happened to me that I didn’t deserve. Nothing happened that I didn’t expect--after all, the kind of life I was living made for a young and not particularly attractive corpse. Of course, at the time I didn’t see it. I thought, ‘gee, that asshole Harry killed himself but not me—I’m going to live on and on and go out with a big fucking bang’."

Lex froze. She glanced over and said, "Look, it’s true. Harry killed himself--stupid. He couldn’t wait, and he didn’t think about what he was doing to the ones he left behind. You loved him so much and he was supposed to love you—but look what he did to you. Love obviously didn’t mean shit; it was an evil myth, so I stopped looking for it, and figured I might as well look out for number one. " 

She stopped and for a brief moment her eyes welled with tears. "I thought I was doing you a favor by breaking it like that. Quick and clean—get over it and get on with your life. I was an asshole too." 

Lex watched her grind the heel of her hand into her eyes and kept his mouth shut. He knew her well enough to know that it was the only apology he’d ever get from her, and even that cost her. He folded his hands under his arms and waited.

"Well, I learned one thing," she continued, "—any way you choose to kill yourself, suicide’s nasty. Came a point, I got tired of slowly killing myself and decided to live. Get clean." She inhaled deeply and the cigarette blazed with the force. "Of course, this is the severely edited version of my life. I hate being boring or unnecessarily maudlin, and the story is equal parts of both." She smiled and her teeth gleamed in the low light.

"Ah. I’m glad you don’t do drugs anymore. It’s..." he laughed. "Well, it’s easier on me that you don’t."

"Healthy self-interest, I like that in a man." She inhaled again and blew a thin stream upward, sighed and said, "Do you know that when I marry I come into a fortune? My beloved Grand-mama, bless that shriveled little apricot she called her heart, left me quite a bit when she died. Generous. I have to be married before I get it in my hot little hands, though." Lex gaped and she waved it off, "oh you know, it was the times…people could do that. Richard also wants to join forces with LuthorCorp, and who knows what Lionel wants…" she looked at Lex. "Besides the obvious. Anyway, that’s why you and I are going to get married."

Lex laughed, "What? Don’t I get a say in this?"

"Well of course, but look here—the established points of our relationship have never changed, you still like fucking boys and I still like fucking boys. We both love me," she winked, "and we both love you. We’ll do our own thing and we’ll call it an open marriage, just like the rest of the swingers." She snorted in contempt, squeezed his fingers gently with her free hand. "Think of it this way; every Saturday night, if we need it, we’ll always have a date."

Lex felt dizzy, and stunned. "Did you ask me—no, did you _tell_ me to marry you?"

"Idiot. Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?" She smiled. "No romantic declaration of love and unending adoration?" 

"I think—I think that I can fuck you into the mattress. Of course, I’ll be thinking about our driver as I’m doing it…"

"Wow, you can’t ask for more romantic than that, big boy. Let’s go, I’m all a-twitter just thinking about it." She grinned and Lex thought he was probably in deeper shit than he'd ever been in his whole life. He stood and followed her back into the lodge, flowing through the crowd and feeling eyes on the both of them. 

"It won’t be boring, at least…."


	14. Chapter 14

1  
In June, Alexander Luthor and Victoria Harrison married; the ceremony was held at a once fashionable Hotel a few miles out of Gotham city. It was still neat and white and gleamed in the sun at the end of the drive, but the gardens had been repaired with Luthor money, and the long stretch of beach below the lawn was no longer private. It didn’t matter to Lex. He was back where he’d been happiest. if just for a little bit, he could imagine being that happy again.

Victoria had been overjoyed at his choice of location.

"Oh no Lex, that’s just too good! Just picturing everyone’s face when they realize they’ve got to go to some low-rent, *way* out of the loop resort at the *Jersey* shore—" she broke into peals of laughter. "And who can refuse? No one turns down Lionel Luthor’s summons. It’s perfect!"

It was a rare day that they shared breakfast. Vic was usually still sound asleep when Lex left for the office and Lex was re-thinking whether it was a desirable thing or not. She giggled again, looked at him and muttered, "Jersey…." Shook her head before sipping at her coffee. Lex managed to keep smiling, and said nothing. There was nothing to say—Vic had no idea what the Hotel meant to him. It was second only to the yellow farmhouse in Smallville in terms of importance. He drank his orange juice slowly and watched Vic snap her toast into bite size bits and chew like she had a vendetta against her food. 

Oddly, Luthor the Elder had had the very same reaction when Lex mentioned a desire to have the wedding at the Hotel. It was unsettling at times, how similar Vic and Lionel’s sense of humor was. There were similarities between the two that invited Lex to keep on his toes around the both of them. He had to say, of the two of them, he was only certain that Vic loved him. And just as certain that ‘changed’ woman or not, her self-interest would override any sentimentality. He sometimes wondered how long they’d stay married after Grand-mama’s money landed in her lap. 

He idly skimmed the paper, and an article low on the front page he’d missed the first time, caught his eye, made him stop and read. "In an increasingly less rare event, a costumed man evincing extraordinary powers, managed single handedly to release hostages during a convenience store robbery in lower Metropolis yesterday evening. The suspects were delivered to the police, unharmed and unconscious. Witness descriptions of the man were conflicting, though all statements agreed the man wore a mask. The costumed individual in this case was described as wearing black and green, others have been described as wearing red, or red and blue." 

The article described several unbelievable events, things the heroes of the stories were supposedly capable of doing and Lex thought of his own enhanced healing factors, some of the odd occurrences in Smallville. He thought about Clark and wondered if some of these sightings might be beings like Clark…he knew it wasn’t Clark. He wouldn’t come back and not come for him. He sighed and folded the paper. He was nearly certain of that. 

 

2  
The weeks leading up to the wedding featured a series of wild mood swings on his part. Some days he’d been relieved beyond belief to have finally gotten his dad off his back—to some extent. Hardly a day went by without Lionel showing up unannounced in his office, but at least he’d stopped sending him itineraries or out to conduct meetings that felt like they were taking place on two levels and he was missing out on vital parts information. Most of his visits concerned the guest list, or appointments with caterers, musicians—not as much moral conflict involved there. Lex couldn’t say those visits had been any more pleasant, but at least they only left him with a desire for aspirin, instead of world death by thermonuclear meltdown. He kept his eye on his dad, forwarded all lists to the Harrison’s and let Vic soothe his ruffled feathers. She was very good at that—she or some amazing friend of hers always knew what he needed. Some days it was only Vic who kept him on track. He was genuinely comfortable at the thought of spending his life with her. She could be good company, and they had a connection, a real respect for each other, no matter what it looked like from the outside. 

Of course, there’d been days when nothing was enough to distract him and he’d wanted to run screaming from the whole mess. He knew there was no real guarantee that Dad would finally leave him alone; he’d probably just look for different ways to run his life. Lex had days in which he actually worried that Vic would leave him or that she wouldn’t if Clark should suddenly decide he needed Lex…or that Bruce and Clark would never ever come home again…but those were the bad days, and thankfully they came less and less.

The day it all came together and hit him hardest was the day the announcement ran in the Planet…

He’d been at his desk, the society pages spread over the glass top—couldn’t tear his eyes away from the slightly grainy picture. Here it was, the wedding made real. He remembered thinking he looked like a fucking ass in the picture, pressed into a tux, grinning like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket, Vic happily posed at his side. He’d been tempted to run, just, he’d had no idea where to run to. He had no one to go to. Lex remembered how empty he’d felt, remembered leaning his forehead against the window wall and thinking, staring into the sun—the tinted glass protected his eyes but he didn’t want it to. He’d wanted to see the bright, true light of the sun, like he’d had long ago in his childhood summers. Now—now there was no place left to go but forward. 

 

3  
They stood on the lawn, a rolling sea of perfect green. In front of them was an arbor covered with tea roses imported for the occasion, under the arbor a minister stood at a lectern surrounded by a sea of more flowers….

They walked down a roll of brilliant white canvas, away from the guests, towards the sea and Lex briefly entertained the thought of walking until he was under water and then…the sun flared on the white, white edge of the arbor, the minister cleared his throat and it began.

It was their wedding day. It was entirely surreal.

Vic looked fantastic; she looked like she was made of sugar, frothy with lace and pearls, frosted in white satin. The Christos gown set her gamine good looks off perfectly. Her father stood at her side and for once seemed to actually notice he had a child. A mild look of affectionate regret passed between them and Lex knew—ten minutes into the reception and they’d be strangers again. 

Lex didn’t need to look behind him to know where Lionel was sitting. He could feel his eyes like lit coals on the back of his neck. He glanced to his side and got a smirk from Dominic, his dad’s assistant. He had to admire the way Dominic gave the impression of lots and lots of teeth behind the close-mouthed tight smile. No wonder Lionel employed him. There was an air of _Dad likes me_ best radiating from the fool. He had no idea he was standing in the position of best man because there was no one else Lex wanted to inflict with the role. The only ones who truly understood what the marriage was all about were Vic and himself, everyone else saw the façade, even his dad didn’t understand.

Lex looked at Vic and she winked and grinned. Her eyes sparkled and well they should, he’d seen just how much of Grand-mama’s money was finally being shook loose. Vic was thrilled—Lex was happy for her. She was finally, once and forever, free of Pat and Richard. No doubt they felt the same sense of relief. She was set for life and as far as she was concerned the day couldn’t be more perfect.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. Perfect weather, perfect vows, and perfectly silent crowd. No one rushed down the swatch of canvas spread on the grass calling for the sham to end. No one yelled ‘stop, stop, I love that man,’ or swept him up and away. But then, he didn’t really expect it to happen.

Afterwards, they were photographed a million times, and Vic smiled and mingled and all in all gave the performance of her life. Anyone watching her would think she was living her childhood dream, that Lex was the great love of her life. And they’d believe it of Lex too, if all they watched was his mouth. He’d learned early on how to smile convincingly and this afternoon, he brought that skill to dizzying heights. People at every turn shook his hand and hugged and attempted to kiss him and told him how happy, how wonderful, he looked and Lex believed that, at least. He had it on good authority that he looked fabulous in the tuxedo. Not only had Vic told him, but the guy who came in to do alterations had _shown_ him just how good he looked. Lex smiled, and the photographer snapped a picture. "There’s one for the wedding album"—probably the only genuine smile he’d smiled all day—the groom thinking about one of the best blowjobs he’d ever had and the bride had nothing to do with it. 

Lex sighed. For some reason, he was horny, had been since they arrived. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he looked automatically for his type—tall, dark, and light eyes, preferably green, but blue would do. He liked them muscular and butch, and he liked them to bottom…he sighed again, and caught Vic lighting up. A bored Vic was an unpredictable Vic—he'd better go entertain her.

Entertainment consisted of him trying to hold Vic up as she tried to hold yards and yards of fabric around her waist. She kept laughing and he kept trying to shush her, making her laugh harder, at least until he wiggled his hand between them and rubbed her clit. She arched, got a good position against the wall and wrapped her legs around his hips, tried to get his dick deeper into her. It was awkward and uncomfortable. The position was terrible—and still hot as hell. She flung her arms around his neck and he gripped her thighs with clawed fingers and yanked her harder against him.

"Fuck—fuck me harder, damn it."

"You’re. So—fucking—demanding," he puffed and slammed her back against the door, lifted her higher and dropped her so that his dick rammed deeper inside of her, his ass clenched and released as he hunched into her, slamming her again and again against the door, as she ground her teeth into his neck. 

His tie was undone, the studs of his shirt somewhere, and she better help him find them later, his pants were skimming the floor of the bathroom and hooking under his heels. Her stilettos were jabbing his back, each stab of her heel made him wince and groan and made his dick jump—he could feel her muscles clamping around him, leaned forward and sucked hard at her neck, the exposed swell of her breasts. She squealed and smacked him, "Bruises!" and lifted herself to drive harder on him, "Oh God—"

She was coming and he was coming and suddenly, the door flung open and they were on the floor, a pile of wet, naked flesh and white lace and black wool and the most embarrassed matron ever standing open-mouthed above them, one hand clenched on the door knob and the other belatedly slapped over her eyes.

Vic hissed in his ear. _"That_ was just beyond perfect." 

Lex groaned, a stud under his elbow stabbing him, his ass on the freezing cold tiles. She was still wrapped around him and he was still in her and it was too funny. "Thank you," he laughed. "Thanks a lot."

 

4  
LuthorCorp acquired Harrison Foods and Lionel Luthor was politely told by Victoria Luthor to get stuffed when he brought up the subject of grandchildren—genetically Luthor grandchildren. Lex loved her more and more, and enjoyed Lionel’s frustration when he found that nothing and no one made Vic do what she didn’t want to.

Lex’s life fell into a comfortable pattern, not hugely different from before, only now instead of Lionel’s little morning lists, he got Vic’s. Lionel’s people were terrified to cross Vic’s and Lex reaped the benefits. He got privacy, and space to explore his own projects, and the reins to his own life. Vic and he quickly decided that the subject of bedroom partners were off limits to the both of them, not difficult for either to adhere to—discretion, that was all that was required of either of them. Lex was fine with finding strangers to breakfast; on occasion he took the stranger back to _his_ bedroom, and every once in a while, Vic joined him. Life was unconventional, but it was fine with him. He had a family again, of sorts, and friendship, and he was happy.

Before the official start of his business day, as he did nearly every day, Lex worked through the newspaper clippings his secretary gave him in the morning, along with a thick file of information provided by the team of investigators working for him. He turned on the television normally concealed behind the doors of an antique armoire, and loaded a player with one of the several videocassettes he’d received that morning with the files. He sat on the couch, taking notes, totally fascinated by what he saw on the tapes. 

A bright red and gold shape sped past the camera in the first clip, making Lex gasp. The ‘super-heroes’ that had begun popping up in Metropolis, Gotham City, and other large urban centers along the east coast were an incredible phenomenon. Lex was completely absorbed by the desire to know everything he could about them; he thoroughly searched out every hero in the public eye. In his most private thoughts, he admitted to himself it was a search for something else, too. He imagined that one day one of those humble, self-effacing heroes would reveal themselves to be Clark. The way they seemed driven to help, to offer comfort and ask for nothing in return, they were the best of the best, and yet, they only wanted to be of service… just the kind of person Clark was.

Lately there’d been a lot of talk in Gotham about a vigilante operating under cover of darkness. Unlike most of the super humans that operated in the cities, this one was a creature of the shadows, seemed to purposely avoid the cameras and reporters that found the other costumed heroes—he went about his business, quietly, secretly and without fanfare. Always in the dark.

Lex had little information besides a few disjointed reports. Most of what he did have was from the victims—the criminals—who'd been apprehended by the vigilante. Their stories were often conflicting—he appeared out of the dark, he flew, he didn’t fly, he laughed a lot, he was dour and frightening, he was a devil—on that point most agreed. It was speculated that instead of one man, it might be a group that were operating as vigilantes, or that if he did exist, there was a possibility that he himself was a criminal. 

Lex snorted quietly. That was the line of thought of the GCPD was taking, at any rate. This particular ‘hero’ wasn’t above delivering the bad guys pretty well beaten to a pulp. He seemed to operate from fear, intimidation, and from the looks of it, enjoyed it. He smiled bleakly. Maybe Gotham was just getting the kind of hero it deserved. Lex had to admit, he rather admired him and hoped that he did exist. It seemed almost like poetic justice—to operate out of the darkness to bring an end to darkness, without worrying about the gray areas. 

Lex turned the set off and thought. No one knew who these people were, and yet what they did was moral and right. What this guy did was what any concerned citizen could do. He looked at the phone. Anyone could stop a crime—all they had to do was care enough. When people didn’t speak up, when they made no attempt to stop the wrong they knew was happening, when they hid behind each other and shifted responsibility on to their fellows, well, an awful lot of terrible things could happen, couldn’t they ….

 

5  
Lex stood on the dock, outlined in the headlights of his car and patiently waited for the meeting he’d arranged. He pictured what the scene looked like and granted it might be a little over-dramatic, clandestine meetings in the dead of night, the obligatory bellow of a tugboat in the distance, the quiet lap of water against the dock pilings…he stifled a snigger, and swallowed hard. Nerves were making him giddy and that wouldn’t do.

A man came out of the shadows and coughed lightly. Behind him the shadows shifted and solidified into a group of men. Lex smiled and turned slightly to gesture to his car, and the men inside.

The older man smiled tightly and inclined his head an inch. "Luthor?" He put his hands in his coat pockets and let his ice blue eyes linger over Lex’s face, trail down his body. His smile lifted a corner of his mouth, but his eyes never changed—piercing, cold, but there was a slowly dawning light of interest there, too.

"Yes. I’m Luthor." Cold sweat prickled and rolled down his back, but he kept his voice even, copied the movement of the other. He slid his hands into his coat pockets; he leaned back on his heels and returned the scrutiny with a practiced smirk. 

 

The other man tilted his head a bit and said, "Shall we pretend that I don’t know what you wanted to meet about?" 

"Now, now. Mr. Edge. I’d like to talk to you—first about Luthor Exports. And then about an up and coming company…Lexcorp." 

The man smiled, and his eyes warmed a fraction. "All right. Let’s talk. You know, I’m an old friend of your father’s. It’s out of respect to him that I chose to meet with you," he lied.

"Really?" Lex grinned and smoothed his lapels. Edge’s eyes followed the movement like a cat watching a mouse. "Then it’s nice to think that I’ll be doing business with a family friend."

BWLLCK

1  
Lex became known as a ruthless and driven businessman, not very different than Lionel Luthor at all.

The roots of the empire he began to build spread far and wide in the Metropolis underworld. It spread branches into every aspect of the city, it reached the very top. It infiltrated Lionel’s business, and ran side by side with Edge’s syndicate. Tendrils reached into the businesses of other tri-state ‘bosses’.

Along with his high profile activities came the scrutiny of the super heroes, who’d begun to unofficially work together, in order to exchange information and assistance. As Lex and his associates’ businesses grew, their activities forced the heroes into a loose organization to combat them. With their combined efforts, they hit Lexcorp often and hard, but it was LuthorCorp they nearly brought to its knees, crippling the company and largely stripping Lionel of the influence he had in Metropolis. Lex enjoyed the irony of Lionel’s plans for him coming true—not in exactly the way Dad had planned no doubt, but he was Prince Of The City now. The Luthor name dominated Metropolis and even as deeply into the underworld as he was, Lex’s legitimate businesses were untouchable, rolling along and making money….

Through a combination of philanthropy and skillful publicity, people thought of Lex as a standup guy, someone who’d created thousands of jobs when he‘d invested in their port—his ships, his warehouses, his trucking company—they all provided jobs. Lex made sure that he was at every civic function possible, participated in charity events that Vic and he were in general, front and center at any Metropolis society event. He carefully cultivated his reputation of an honest businessman, and reaped the benefits.

 

2  
 _Henderson, Narcotics…oh, it’s you…you’re sure? All right… this morning…Silver Queen—got it. Heroin…it’ll be in what…? Cosmetics. Okay—hello? Hello?"_

 

3  
Lex sat at his desk and rolled the can of hairspray back and forth across the desktop. He frowned, opened the can and dumped out a small opaque balloon. He slit it carefully with a knife and white powder showed in the split. He shook his head. Morgan took a tremendous hit when that shipment was stopped. He was going to be furious. Heads would definitely roll…and word was his new enforcer was merciless.

Lex stood and tossed the small bag of heroin into the fireplace, waited until the flames caught and left the room. With this latest disaster, he could expect the various bosses to be jumpy, angry. He’d need to make sure that they didn’t rush to do something stupid and start a war he didn’t have the time for.

 

4  
Lex was standing in the large outer office of LexCorp, arms crossed and facing the windows that looked out over the harbor. Sunlight glittered on the waves far out to sea, and he thought he saw an unusual movement over the waves, a blur. He assumed that one of the super-humans was watching him. He wondered which one, if they were from Gotham or Metropolis…

Sheila called out to him, "Lex, a Mr. Edge is on the line." She managed to make her personal distaste for Edge known with just the tilt of her chin and the millimeter rise of her eyebrow.

He smirked and told her, "Transfer it to my private line, Sheila. And can you order lunch—Vic's coming to visit today." His smirk slid into a genuine smile as she softened just a bit. She was a romantic, and loved to see the two of them together. Lex didn’t mind—whatever made Sheila happy—God knew, he’d be lost without her.

"Okay, Boss. I’ll have some flowers sent in, too."

He nodded. "Perfect. Thanks, Sheila."

She ignored him as he walked back into his office—he felt a little waft of air, and Sheila frowned when the papers in her outbox fluttered. "Darn air conditioning…" he heard her mutter. He didn’t bother to tell her to call building maintenance, Sheila would.

He groaned softly to himself and slid back into his desk chair and hoped the conversation would be neither too long nor too painful. "Luthor here."

_Lex, my boy, how are you?_

"Fine, Morgan, and you? Now that pleasantries are out of the way, what can I help you with?"

_You’re going to be arrested, you know. The drugs came in on your ship, the anonymous tip was directed at you._

"I’m not worried. I employ the best lawyers, men who are skilled at what they do. Men who have great incentive to be good at what they do."

_So, you’ll have no need of my help…?_

"I’ll see you later on this evening. I’m looking forward to poker with you and your friends tonight."

_I look forward to it as well. Be sure to tell your father hello from me. I’ll have to visit him soon._

"Oh, I’ll be certain to tell him. Until this evening,"

He hung up just as Vic came into the office.

She was frowning and sat on the edge of the desk. "Lex, no fucking around, tell me what you’re involved in and I want the mother-fucking truth." 

"Hello to you too, Vic." He looked at her, thinking hard. They might have separate lives but he did owe her something. He should afford her the ability to protect herself in case everything fell apart. Vic deserved that from him. He stood and went to his office door, closing it. He turned on the television, set the volume loud, came over to her and wrapped his arms around her as if he wanted a kiss. She stiffened and he whispered in her ear, "I’ll tell you everything, if you’re sure want to know."

She hesitated, and then slowly raised her arms to hold him, and nodded. 

"This is going to make you laugh," he said.

 

5  
Lex’s testimony that he had no knowledge of the shipment managed to hold up, thanks to the army of highly motivated lawyers he employed…and the help of certain people inside the MPD. Several key players in Edge’s syndicate weren’t as fortunate. Someone had to take the fall after all. It happened—it was the price they all knew they might have to pay someday.

 

Lex left the courtroom with a carefully solemn expression, the expression of a simple man persecuted unjustly by the faceless juggernaut of politics. His mind was working overtime as he looked into the lenses of a hundred cameras. Flash lit up the marble hall, bounced light over the crowd…and suddenly he had a strange feeling. He had Vic on his arm and his lawyers and bodyguards surrounded him, he was probably safer here than anywhere else, still, the feeling crept over him….

People tried to get around his security to shake his hand, touch him, to shout encouragement. He was a favorite of the public, people believed that he was one of them; a guy concerned with his fellow man, a guy the government had it out for because of his unpopular opinions and willingness to offer real solutions to their problems. 

Lex was feeling more and more uneasy, more on edge. The noise, the shouting, echoed in his ears, he was beginning to wilt under the press of the crowd and the heat. Vic smiled and slipped a tissue in his hand.

"You okay?" she whispered.

He dabbed at his lip and scanned the crowd and the uneasy feeling was back. "Never better," he whispered in return. He smiled gravely and spoke to everyone who spoke to him, waved at the crowd as his entourage guided him to the exit and he felt it again, a strange uneasy, crawling sensation at the back of his neck. He snapped his head around and there—Bruce was leaning against a pillar, arms folded and a deep frown on his face. Lex felt a sharp pain in his chest—a gasp broke free and Vic stopped, looked at him open mouthed, and color drained from her face.

"Jesus, Lex, what is it?"

"Bruce," Lex gasped and staggered a step or two forward—and he was gone. "Son-of-a-bitch! Mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch!" He would have run in the direction that he’d seen Bruce but his men hustled him quickly from the hall, nervous at his reaction, shocked that he’d lost composure in public. Lex was nearly faint with rage. How the fuck could Bruce came back and not say a damn word? How could he not tell him?

 

6  
In the morning paper, an article in the business section made him angry—so angry that for a moment, he thought he’d go blind. 

"Bruce Wayne- Kent returns to take the reins of Kent Farms after taking a few years to tour Europe with his brother—" the rest of the article ended up as confetti on the breakfast table.

Vic raised an eyebrow when she came in. She tossed her coat over the back of a chair and set her purse down on the newsprint snowdrift, she lit a cigarette and waited with a calm smile while Lex poured her a cup of coffee. "Really, Lex…you need to take a more meditative view of the world…" She brushed aside the bits of paper and flicked her ashes in the saucer of her cup. "I see your little friends are back in town—"

"Shut the fuck up, Vic, I’m not in the fucking mood, all right?" He jumped to his feet and stalked around the room. "Why the fuck would he ignore me? Why wouldn’t he come to see me the first thing? Clark and—and—"

"Maybe he reads the paper too, dear." Vic lit a cigarette and blew a thick cloud of smoke over his head. He grimaced and swiped at the smoke. "After all, according to the Planet, it’s a good bet you're a mob boss, aren’t you? Criminal mastermind…blah, blah. Not exactly the kind of guy a person like Bruce would want to associate with."

"Shut up," he muttered. He walked over to the balcony and stared out through the glass doors. "I can’t believe Clark didn’t try to get in touch…."

Vic came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. "Will it make you feel better if I told you some interesting gossip?" He was motionless for a long minute before shrugging. She sighed and said brightly, "Guess who’s getting souvenirs from Afghanistan?" 

He laughed a little, and leaned his head back against hers and smiled. High in the dawn sky, he could see a brilliant streak of light flash over the skyline. They watched together as it fell towards the horizon.

 

7  
"Vic, what’s on the agenda for today?" He asked, and struggled to get his tie to lay right under the wide collar. He frowned. He wasn’t too sure about the suit. Was it too conservative for an important guy with mob connections? Too flashy for an aspiring servant of the people?

She lay back on her elbows on his bed and jiggled her foot, watching him wrestle with the tie with a grin. "After Sheila lets you loose, you’re meeting me at Arlene’s for lunch."

"God, really? I hate that place. It’s so pretentious and the food is awful." He yanked the tie into place and huffed in irritation. He sat on the bed next to her, nudging her over to make room.

"I’m going to call Bruce." He waited, but she just smiled. "I’m going to talk to him, and to Clark. And tell them that I missed them and I want to get together with them."

"That’s good, sweetheart. I’m glad." She leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. "You know it’s killing you. Talk to them, someone has to make the first move. After all, someone has to be the bigger man, and I’m positive, it’s you." She squeezed his thigh, stood and straightened her skirt.

"Morgan Edge called me. He wants to meet with me. I told him to meet me at Arlene’s for drinks after you and I have lunch. Strictly hush-hush." She winked at him. "You’re not to know." 

"Really? Business or pleasure?" 

"Ick, don’t make me nauseous."

"What? —I’d do him. He’s rich, he’s powerful, he’s good looking—and I have it on very good authority that he’s hung."

"Mmm," she murmured, searching through her clutch for lipstick, when she found it she painted a careful shiny line around her lips while she spoke. "I’m quite sure you would. Point me out someone you wouldn’t—" She dodged a flying pillow with a laugh. "At any rate, I’ll find out what he wants. Listen—you be careful with him. You’ve won a lot of skirmishes; done those boys some real damage and you’re getting cocky. Edge isn’t like you, he’s much more direct. He doesn’t waste time trying to come up with an attractive way to solve a problem—he just blows its brains out."

"Which is why I’m not crazy about you meeting with him alone. Take Henry or one of the other bodyguards with you." 

"All right," she said and bent to kiss his cheek. "Just to make you happy. Even Edge wouldn’t hurt someone as high profile as the wife of The Prince of The City…you worrywart. Later."

"Later." Lex smiled as he watched her leave the room. He leaned back on the bed and glanced at the phone—should he call the escort service and have a little something sent in before work, or check out the latest information on the costumed coterie? He reached for the phone with a grin—one thing he definitely better do—call security and make sure Vic left with a bodyguard. 

 

8  
Lex had Sheila send in coffee, his clippings, and spent an hour watching his latest clips before the workday started.

The videocassette player whirred and clicked as he rewound the tape, the figure on the screen leaping backward into the night and then again forward—The Batman. The Gotham avenger finally had a name: Batman. Dark, mysterious, and so low key as to be almost invisible. Other heroes claimed they didn’t want publicity—Batman meant it. He was different as night and day from the others, but according to Lex’s intelligence the others were also putting out feelers as far as Batman was concerned. They were interested. Lex smiled. If they wanted to get anywhere, they’d better hope Batman was interested too. Lex found him endlessly fascinating. He’d given up any pretense that what he was doing was research. He was as hopelessly addicted to Batman as he’d been to Warrior Angel. He watched the clip he’d gotten that morning over and over, rewound it and rewound it—again and again the figure clad in black and gray dropped from the top of the skyscraper, dropped straight down into the darkness, without a rope, or net—and was scooped out of the sky and carried off. 

And this was the miracle part; the part that made Lex’s heart beat faster. Batman’s companion—his sidekick—was amazing. His costume was all black, and in the low light the video camera didn’t pick up much. Until he turned slightly to snatch Batman out of the air the large red R on his chest wasn’t noticeable. He bent in the air, like a hawk on the wind, wrapped arms around the other’s chest and swooped away, flying higher and higher until they disappeared into the darkness. 

Robin and Batman. 

He leaned back against the couch and sighed. The Flash…Green Lantern…Elongated Man, and all the others that were moving against the Metropolis-Gotham cartel, were also directing an interest towards the mysterious duo. 

Through a series of tip-offs and payoffs, information leaked that was strangling the mobs, slowly but surely. Batman and Robin were the newest players in the game but he had no doubt he could move those newest pieces about on the board in the direction he wanted, too. 

Still photos of the two lay on his desk. He could see that coming upon Batman in some dark alley might be frightening—picture after picture, he frowned, scowled, in general just looked damn unpleasant. Robin on the other hand, smiled—a lot. Nearly every picture featured him with a big grin on his face. Lex frowned. He doubted it was because he had a good sense of humor. Both of them seemed to be younger than he expected. But with Batman’s features mostly obscured by the black, eared cowl, and the domino that the bigger one, Robin wore, he couldn’t be sure. 

He worked steadily until Sheila called and reminded him about his lunch date. He thanked her, called down to ready his car and in a short time headed out to lunch with Vic. He leaned his head back against the seat and tried to relax; he was tense, so tense he could feel it pulling his shoulders into a knot. He hoped lunch was relaxing; he needed a break for a little bit.

He arrived outside of Arlene’s to a crowd. There were police cars in the streets around the restaurant, the area outside the door was cordoned off and he knew—before he even got out of the car he knew. It was no surprise that the captain on the scene tried to stop him, Lex knew why. He wasn’t shocked to see Vic and two of the bodyguards broken and bloody on the sidewalk. The awful intensity of his pain, his sorrow, did surprise him. He felt a place inside of him open wide again and spill out any warmth he’d managed to gain. Vic was dead; because of him, she was dead….

Lex drove through Suicide Slums, buildings and streets a gray blur rushing past his windows as he drove beyond too fast, tires screaming around the corners, barely in control of the ton of fishtailing metal he sent flying down the street in pursuit of revenge. He didn’t care if Edge knew he was coming—he wanted him to know. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

He tore around another corner and he was suddenly airborne—he slammed against the headrest as his seatbelt tightened, locked—in the second that it took for that to happen, he realized that the car had hit something, head on. His car shuddered, metal screamed and crumpled and he threw his arms over his eyes and grit his teeth—his whole body froze and he waited—he expected to die. 

The moment stretched on and on, and finally he opened an eye to look…The hood of the car seemed to point straight up and he could hear the engine roaring and the car dropped back down and bounced on its tires and just stopped dead.

Silence…there was no sound except for the creak of cooling metal, nothing moved. It was if time poured slow as syrup. He turned his head slowly, looked toward the passenger side. The darkness outside moved slightly, spoke.

"Hello."

"Hel—hello." The word felt like cotton clinging to the inside of his mouth. Lex licked his lips, and tried to get his throat to work.

"You can’t do what you’re planning." 

"Fuck you," he managed, his voice a harsh rasp. "My wife…"

A black-gloved hand reached into the car and Lex realized the door was open. It wrapped around his wrist and Lex was surprised at the warmth—he’d expected the gloves would feel cold and rubbery…. "Don’t do it. Edge is prepared to kill you, too."

"He’s not going to kill me—he sent me a message." Lex laughed harshly. "A warning—the fucker. A warning, he said." Lex’s eyes filled with tears he blinked away.

"Mr. Luthor, we can help each other."

Lex laughed again. "You’d work with a criminal? Are you out of your mind?"

"MPD doesn’t have the resources I have. They don’t have the ability to look as deep as I can, they don’t have the resources I have to search out information."  
All the while he spoke, Batman leaned closer to Lex until he was inches from his face, whispering. "They don’t know you like I do, Casper."

Lex felt the world rolling wildly under him, before gray clouds leaked in from the corners of his mind. He felt he really had to close his eyes, just for a minute, just for a few seconds…"Bruce."

"Lex…I want you to go home, okay? I want you to let us take care of Edge."

"I won’t stop what I’m doing—it’s because of me that you have half the information you do. Don’t think that out of some misguided sense of protection you can stop me—"

Bruce stopped him. "The thought never occurred to me. You made an informed decision to take on crime in Metropolis, didn’t you? The only reason I want you not to do this is that we can handle Edge better than you can. We still need you to keep doing what you’re doing. It would take us too long to infiltrate the cartel at the level you’re at." 

"Oh, well of course! What was I thinking? For one ridiculous moment I thought you were worried about me." Lex was shaking. "Fine. Let me go then, I have a funeral to plan." Lex tried to yank back the hand he’d just realized Bruce was still holding, and Bruce leaned so close his lips brushed Lex’s—and Lex pushed him away, hard enough to make Bruce stagger to his feet. "God, you fuck—don't—don’t you dare."

Bruce looked down, but the cowl made it impossible for Lex to make out his expression. "Your car is damaged, Lex," he said. "I'll take care of it."

"Great. How do I get home?" Lex pulled himself out of the car and walked around in front of it and looked at the crumpled hood. "Fuck—what did I hit?" 

"Me." A shape came out of the shadows of the alley next to them. Tall, dressed in black, unruly hair curling around his face—what could be seen under the mask—

Jesus. "Clark."

"Hey, you mind—there’s a reason why I wear the mask."

Lex shook his head. How did he not get it the minute he saw that smile. He felt his eyes fill again, and cursed. He wiped his face on his coat sleeve and Robin said, "I’ll take you home." He glanced over at Bruce as he said it and Bruce nodded. 

"See you back at the farm."

Robin nodded back and walked up to Lex.

"Get ready," he said, and Lex said for what and suddenly, he was plastered against Robin and then he was being pressed into him, he felt like a thousand hands were trying to crush him into his body, Clark’s breath was hot against his neck, murmuring encouragement. The wind screamed around them and the pressure got greater and he was afraid of being turned into paste and then, suddenly he could breathe again—he was dropping down so quickly the wind pulled tears from his eyes and then he was standing on his balcony. His knees wobbled and Clark was still holding him, arms like steel around him, he was all that kept Lex from falling. He tried to move and it was like being caged and then with his next breath, Clark was gone.

Lex touched his neck, he thought he felt wet there, but his fingers found nothing, and his shirt was becoming damp from the night air. Lex pulled his overcoat off and steeped off the balcony into the quiet apartment. The light on the answering machine blinked on and off frantically. He imagined the cassette was full...he’d have to face that but God; it’d have to wait until morning…he walked through the dark too tired to turn on a light, too tired to think. 

When he got to the door to Vic’s bedroom, he paused, leaned his head against the door. It was his fault. If he hadn’t been playing at being a hero, this wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t gone about things his way, she might still be alive….

He kept the light off in his room too, paused only long enough to toe his shoes off and dropped onto the bed. He wrapped the coat around his head and passed out.

He cried on and off in his sleep all night long, but he was never really sure what woke him…

 

9  
A few days after Vic’s funeral, he got a call from someone that he’d spoken to once many, many years ago. 

He’d just spent a lovely afternoon assuring Pat and Richard the money Vic had inherited was indeed all theirs, that he hadn’t touched a penny of it, would rather die than touch a penny of it, and he wished them joy of it, and seriously debated using his connections to arrange an accident. It was sad, he thought, that he really couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were such a waste of meat. He’d known so many people in his life, people like the Kents, the Waynes, like Harry and Vic, who should be alive, who should be breathing the air that Pat and Dick fouled with their existence. 

It wasn’t a very big shock that the past came out to haunt him that afternoon; he’d been having a very hard time since Vic’s funeral. Lex flexed his fingers, staring at the knucklebones moving under his skin… 

Bruce had come out of the crowd of strangers to stand next to him. He’d taken his hand, without a word and stood with him until the last person left. No one bothered Lex for long with inanities, not with Bruce glowering at his side. The sun flicked on and off through fast moving clouds, lending a surreal air to the already unreal afternoon—Vic was gone, in the white and gold box they were dropping into the ground—and Bruce was standing next to him, bristling like a Doberman at anyone who got too close, standing next to him like he had a right to. Somewhere out there Clark was watching because he never went anywhere without Bruce—if his information was correct. Where Bruce was, was Clark. 

 

Back at the office because he didn’t know where else to go, Sheila scolded him for coming in to work, and handed him a message from a stranger; along with the number the person had left. He called the number, and looked out over the harbor as he dialed. There was a blur racing across the sky, far out on horizon. He stood and went to the window, watched it come closer and higher, and streak off to the left of his view, out of sight.

"Hello? Lex Luthor here—you called earlier?"

 

10  
He made arrangements to meet at a restaurant in lower Metropolis that had been fashionable when he was a teen. It just seemed…right. The maître-d’ ushered him into the dimly lit dining room and he looked around as he was shown to his table. It was mildly disappointing to be in the restaurant after all these years. The old prints that had once decorated the walls were gone, the room had been done over in earth tones and it was vaguely Asian and boring, so bland and boring.

The man waiting for him to sit was bland. He might have been considered handsome in his day, Lex thought. His graying blond hair looked like it might have a tendency to curl; his eyes were blue and once must have been intense. His stocky build was beginning to thicken, muscles turning to fat with age.

Lex slid into the dark private booth across from the man, who asked if he’d like a drink. He had a large one in front of him and the smell of alcohol was sharp, coming from the man’s skin as well as the half empty glass in front of him. Lex grimaced and shook his head. "I’d rather not drink with you."

The man grinned and took a deep swallow and then slid a manila envelope across the table to him. Lex hesitated before opening the package. It didn’t take much imagination to know what was in it. He ripped open the envelope and took a few photographs from it, and was looking into Harry’s wide blue eyes again, at that peculiar expression of innocence and belligerence Lex remembered so well. The picture blurred briefly before calm settled over him…he pushed the pictures back into the envelope. He didn’t need to see what else they showed. He had these photographs as well, in a box in his bedroom safe.

"These are a few of the pictures I have, negatives also...I’ve been considering going to the papers. Metropolis should know what kind of man it wants at the helm."

"This is your son, for God’s sake, how could you…"

"What he did was wrong and disgusting, and had nothing to do with me. I’d be doing the city a favor… of course, you can try convince me that I’m wrong."

The calm that’d kept him still exploded. He felt like he’d been in a rage for a million years, he was so full of anger and hatred that it felt like every pore was slimy with it, that it oozed out and infected the air he breathed. Lex's voice shook when he spoke and it sounded a lot like fear.

"Please, come outside with me, we have to discuss this further…I think we can make an arrangement beneficial to the both of us."

 

It was unusually hot for a spring night and the blacktop in the parking lot was giving up even more heat. Sweat ran down Lex’s back and his face, his hand was damp, but his grip on the gun never wavered.

The man was on his knees. Shaking and moaning, his eyes rolled up towards Lex as he begged desperately for his life. He moaned when the barrel of the gun dug into the soft spot under his ear.

"God, don’t do it, don’t—you won’t get away with this—"

Lex twisted the barrel until the man groaned louder, tears sprang up in his eyes, and Lex kicked him. "I don’t care, you fucking child raper—Vic’s dead and I don’t have anyone else and for what you did, you _should_ die." Lex eased back on the trigger, and waited for the black wave of sorrow to pass. 

"Don’t. We’ll fix it."

Lex looked over and a piece of the dark tore loose and settled on the ground in front of him. "We’ll take care of it, promise."

Clark’s eyes looked out of Robin’s face, searching out something in him, long moments passed with only Harry’s father’s panicked breath breaking the silence. Lex shoved the gun in hard, twisted it in the man’s neck—he let out a small rabbit-like shriek. Lex pulled the gun away and kicked the cowering figure, hard enough to slide him a few feet across the ground. "I should kill you for what you did to your son, you—you—" 

Clark reached carefully for the gun and eased it out of his hand. "Lex, will you be okay? I can take you home again."

"No. I’m fine. You take care of that piece of shit—I can make it home on my own."

"Lex…"

"Just fuck off—Robin."

BWLLCK

Lex was staring up at the ceiling, not really seeing it. A corner of his mind watched shadows moving; most of his awareness was…elsewhere. On nearly every surface glasses sat, half full, full, empty, there were a ring of glasses around the couch he lay on. Around the room candles flickered and burned…he’d been feeling especially dramatic, besides, it made him feel like he was in a field of stars. He and Harry had done that one night, candles all over… _Drama queen, that’s me…_ the stereo blasted a band that was popular when he was in school. It just seemed a good choice considering his frame of mind. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. He wouldn’t mind something else to keep him balanced….

_Oh it's such a perfect day_  
I'm glad I spent it with you  
Oh such a perfect day  
You just keep me hanging on… 

Lex hummed along with the song and closed his eyes, remembering… Harry in the deep grass behind the school gardens, lying on their clothes, naked, spread open. So beautiful. So eager to please…they’d been terrible children, but they’d been in very much in love…the only person he’d loved more than Harry was Clark…

_Just a perfect day_  
You make me forget myself  
I thought I was someone else  
Someone good…* 

He groaned and stretched out across the couch, knocking the bolsters to the ground. His bare skin stuck, squeaked against the dark leather of the couch where it was damp.

Clark still was the most important thing in his life. He still woke up to dreams of Clark, what he wanted it to have been. He still chased Clark in the mouths and bodies of strangers, still sought the most perfect moment, the most perfect kiss of his life, a kiss that still made him wake up hard and sweating… he trailed fingers across his dick and sighed, cradled himself. So much time…he was so much older now. He felt bent and creased and stamped by age. 

It was so fucking hot….

He grabbed one of the half-filled glasses on the floor next to him and drank it down. The fire in the grate burned fiercely, happily, all the pictures that Clark had brought him that evening, every picture that Harry’s father had had, every bit of Harry left that Lex didn’t possess. No one but he would ever again lay eyes on Harry looking like that, Harry coming for him. He sucked in a shaky breath. God, so much had broken open with that disgusting old man’s try at blackmail, and Vic’s murder and Clark coming back…the fire was making the apartment into an oven, but he was too sleepy to get up and turn up the air-conditioning…

He felt the brush of fingers on his forehead and jumped…he must have fallen asleep. The fire was out—the apartment was cooler; in fact a breeze flicked the curtains back at living room balcony doors. The music was still playing, but the candles were all out and the maze of glasses gone from the floor. Shit. Too bad, he thought, he really could have used a drink. He must have gotten up at some point in the night and put them away. He glanced at the bar and all the glasses were lined up there. He scratched his sweat-sticky stomach and winced. Looked at himself and giggled. "I’m naked. Why am I naked?" He shook his ahead and groaned—the room reeled for a moment.

"Water?"

"God damn it!" Lex yelped. He whipped around and quickly clutched his mouth, fought not to throw up. "What the fuck—are you trying to kill me? And who said you could come back?"

Clark came around the couch and just grinned down at Lex. There was no blush, no little duck of his head. He looked at Lex openly, frankly appraising. He tilted his head, smiled slowly, obviously and Lex blushed. He snatched a bottle out of Clark’s hand and drank—stopped, stared at the green glass bottle. "What the hell is this?"

"Bottled water, don’t you know it’s better than tap water?" Clark watched him as he swallowed and Lex was acutely aware that his lips were pressed against the glass.

"Nothing’s better than Metropolis tap water," he muttered and took another long, long swallow. Clark watched him drink, lips parted, the pink tip of his tongue showing and a look so avid that Lex felt himself respond. He coughed, sat up and stared at the cold sweating bottle. "Actually, that’s not bad, this could really sell," he mused. "Remind me look into this when I’m sober…"

Clark nodded. "I picked it up in Italy. I brought something to eat too. It looks like it’s been awhile since you’ve done that."

"I only eat with my friends," Lex snapped, and then laughed "—that’s why I’m fucking starving," and laughed even harder.

Clark waited patiently for him to stop. "I’m going to eat with you. To make sure you eat." He brought the food over, opened the little boxes and set them on the table. He walked behind the half wall at the rear of room and came back with forks and spoons. He serenely popped them into the take out boxes and sat. 

"You’re not my fucking friend," Lex gasped, he was hanging on the side of the couch, eyes wet from laughing, wheezing. "You’re nothing to me."

Clark glanced over at him and said, "Sit up. Eat something." He tossed him a handful of napkins. "You might want to protect yourself, some of this is hot. You don’t want it in your lap." He smirked and stared obviously into Lex's lap.

Lex slid around until he was upright, and made a face at the food. "Fuck, I can’t eat that…" he grimaced and rubbed his belly, and Clark grinned, chewing slowly as he watched the movement of Lex’s hand. He licked the fork, tongue pressed against the tines.

"We helped you get Edge—we helped get your pictures back. That proves we’re friends." Clark kept eating, ignoring the fact that Lex was ready to explode—when Lex did blow up, he looked surprised.

"We? You mean the mother-fuckers that took off and left me alone—the ones that went the fuck into nowhere and left me alone for _years?_ Wow, you are really good friends—a postcard whenever you could be bothered…" He staggered to his feet and said, "Wait, wait—" he ran across the apartment and grabbed the porcelain bowl from his bookcase behind his desk. 

"Look, look—" he ran back to Clark and threw the contents of the bowl on the floor. "Four years' worth of cards and letters."

A handful of envelopes and cards fluttered to the floor at Clark’s feet. He looked at Lex, expressionless. Lex scooped the cards up and threw them onto the still hot coals in the fireplace. 

"Burn, you little sons of bitches," he muttered. "Burn…"

Clark stood and watched the cards smoke and catch and flame. "You got married," he said. "I knew you forgot about me when I saw that you married, but I still couldn’t let go—I had to write you. You never wrote back to me."

"You never gave me an address, you asshole!"

Clark actually did blush slightly. "I didn’t want to take the chance that you wouldn’t write back…"

Lex stared at him, his mouth slowly opening, and then he shook his head. "Forget it. But enough about accusing me—what about you? For four years you didn’t have anyone? You didn’t try to be happy, look for some peace?"

"Happy?" Clark laughed. "What the fuck is that? Were you happy—you marry her and then you cheat on her…all those men."

"What do you know—" Lex began and stopped. "—wait a fucking minute—you watched me?" He stood again. "You were here and instead of trying to talk to me, let me know you were safe and home and—you watched me?" Lex yelled. "Do you need someone to explain to you what invasion of privacy means? You really…you’re kind of a nut case aren’t you?"

Clark laughed, it sounded painful. "You have no mother-fucking idea."

Lex winced. It looked bad, sounded bad, Clark cursing. He weaved a bit and staggered on his feet. "Okay. This—the heat and the liquor…fuck, I need to lie down. Come on."

Clark raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Come on?"

Lex felt naked—and punched Clark in the chest. "Oh, don’t get excited, you asshole. I need you to—to—make sure I don’t throw up and die in my sleep."

"Shit, I’m honored," Clark muttered and rubbed his chest, even though Lex knew he hadn’t felt it. It made him soften towards Clark for a moment, and that wouldn’t do. 

Lex sneered at him and snarled, "If I do throw up, I hope I throw up on you."

Clark’s mouth twisted, torn between snickering and being hurt. "You first," he gestured out of the room and Lex snapped, "You just want to watch my ass."

Clark shrugged. "Whatever. You don’t seem to mind showing it."

Lex huffed, "That’s because I’m drunk now—just wait, tomorrow I’ll be mortified."

* _Perfect Day, lyrics by Lou Reed_


	15. Chapter 15

1  
It was almost dawn, and Lex was still awake. Clark sat in a chair next to his bed. Both of them were quiet, but they’d been talking for a long time. Lex rolled onto his side and faced Clark, and Clark lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"I want you to understand, we’re still not friends."

"Lex, if you said anything different, I’d wonder about you." Clark smiled, and said, "But if you really hated me, really wanted me gone—I wouldn’t be here right now." He stretched out long legs and crossed his arms over his chest and looked too damn comfortable, Lex thought. Like he owned the chair he sprawled in. The thought made Lex shiver.

"You let Bruce know that I don’t want to talk to him. The funeral was it. I don’t want to see him again."

"Okay."

"It’s his fault. All of this stupidity…"

"Okay."

"He ruined everything for everybody. Everything would have been different, better. Nobody would have suffered this much." Lex’s voice broke and he pressed his lips tight.

"He…yeah."

"You too. You ruined it too." Lex's voice shook again and he cursed, what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn’t blame the bourbon…whiskey…vodka…whatever all he drank last night or this morning…he bit his lip. Oh shit, he was going to laugh and there was nothing funny about this and there was a huge alien superhero sitting next to his bed having the good grace to look guilty—finally.

Clark took a deep breath and Lex watched his rib cage expand and deflate and he said, "I know."

"Why?" Lex’s internal critic groaned. You’re whining, it told him, whining like a baby…fuck and fuck again.

"I thought…I thought he needed me. I thought it was my duty. I thought maybe you didn’t need me as much as Bruce did, because...I thought my life would be easier."

"Jesus, you’re such an asshole. So stupid. So completely stupid…"

"Hey—I was just a kid."

Lex sneered at him. "Hah. What are you now?"

Clark closed his eyes slowly and sighed. "Oh God—so fucking old."

Lex didn’t reply, didn’t move, he just nodded. There was nothing to say to that, not when he could see the truth of it.

"You should have someone normal, Lex, worthy of you."

Lex snorted. "Who knows what _normal_ is? Besides, I thought I was a slut who slept with everybody," he mumbled sleepily. He was so damn tired inside but his brain wouldn’t let up…image after image of his current life swept through his mind and most of it was unflattering….

"No, Lex. I’m the slut," Clark said, and so seriously that Lex turned his head to look at him. 

"What happened while you were gone, Clark? What did you do?"

"You really don’t want to know, and I don’t want to tell you, anyway."

Lex let the statement sink into the mess of his mind. He’d think about that later. He stretched out on the bed, yawned and spread his arms and legs wide. "You can lay down with me if you want."

Clark shook his head. "No. I don’t want to sleep with you, if I get in bed with you, I’ll want to fuck you."

Lex winced again. "Can you stop that, please?"

"What?"

"Stop… _cursing_ like that."

"Why, because it’s not what Robin would do? Or maybe you mean Clark? Sorry, I’m not what you wanted me to be? Besides," he said, "what else am I supposed to say when I’m begging for your dick?"

"Damn it, stop. Just. Shut up."

"Come on—you don’t want me beg you to let me suck your dick? Let me touch it—just let me smell you, and I’ll be happy, let me kiss you and I swear, it’ll be enough—" Clark's voice was deep and dark and he whispered huskily "—for now." 

Lex groaned, the sheet shifted over his hips as his dick swept under it to lay hard against his belly. 

Clark inhaled. "I can smell you," he said, his voice still a whisper. In the silent dawn, it felt like a shout. "I know exactly what you smell like…I know what your come smells like. What your sweat smells like. Let me…" He reached out a hand and slipped it under the sheet, weaving his fingers over Lex's hipbone, along the cut of muscle, the length of his erection. Clark slid his fingers out from under the sheet and licked them with a small moan.

Lex stared open-mouthed at Clark. Who the hell _was_ this person? He wasn’t anything like the boy he’d lost, nothing at all like him. Lex watched in a trance as Clark stood and kneaded at the rise creasing his pants. He arched against his hand and slid his zipper down, pushed his hand inside his boxers and squeezed himself and Lex licked his dry lips. God…Clark was huge. Lex’s dick jerked and Clark laughed lightly, stroked against the spreading dark spot on the sheet, made Lex groan as his dick tried to rise against the pressure.

"See, you want me. You want to know how good I can make it for you, how hot my mouth is." He climbed over Lex, straddled him, rubbing his ass lightly over the ridge of his dick, only the sheet and denim between them. Lex’s head dropped back and he began panting…

"You want to know if my ass is tight, hot—you want to know if I’m better than the others. I am—I’m going to suck your balls dry." Clark groaned in his ear, and Lex froze.

"Stop, stop—Get up! Get _out."_

"You’re kidding—now? What is it…Oh." Clark sat back and sneered. "I get it. Sorry, your little virgin boy’s been dead for a long time. I’m good at pretending though. I can be what you want, I promise. Fuck me. Whatever you want—I know how you like it, I can be that."

Lex let his head drop back against the pillow. "You—Bruce—Vic…all that time, looking for you, waiting and now…I have to say, this is rather a disappointment." Lex wanted to laugh but it came out—different—and finally he let himself go. Tears overflowed and spilled out, he dug his fingers into his eyelids as if that would hold them back. "Fuck—fuck—how can you do this to me? Why are you punishing me when it’s not my fault what happened? I didn’t send you away and I can’t read minds, you bastard."

Clark was on the floor next to his bed, stroking his head, his shoulder. "Lex. I ‘m not trying to punish you—I don’t know how else to be. I love you. I do."

Lex pushed him away and sobbed. "I thought if I can’t be happy, I can at least help others to be…I wanted to help. I did—"

"You did—you do! So much to help us all."

Lex swallowed hard, and fought for calm. He managed not to sob when he said, "I want you, I do so much, but I’m afraid. How can I know you won’t hurt me again?"

"How can I know _you_ won’t hurt me? You hurt me over and over and I always forgave you, can’t you forgive me?"

Tears still ran, Lex's chest still ached. He closed his eyes. "God, I want to. I’m just so afraid of you."

Clark shook his head. "Don’t’ be afraid of me. Not tonight."

Lex laughed and wiped at his eyes. "There’s always tomorrow, right?"

Clark reached out for him, and Lex grabbed his hand, pulled him closer. "Go ahead, then. Make me feel like you care."

"I do." His hand touched down on the center of his chest, light as feathers. His fingers left warm trails over his skin, made his breath hitch, and nipples harden. Clark’s fingers swirled over him, moving lower and lower. His thumb rimmed his navel, dipped in and Lex couldn’t stop himself from lifting at the sensation. His hips dropped back to the bed and Clark inhaled, leaned slowly forward and when Lex didn’t stop him, repeated his thumb’s movement with his tongue.

Lex groaned, loud, long—this was a fantasy, a dream, it wasn’t happening. He was in the living room, where it was too hot and he was sweating and drunk out of his mind, alone on the couch, and dreaming that his hands were twisting in Clark’s hair, pulling it harder than he could have with any of the imitations he’d rented—

he was dreaming that Clark was licking shiny wet trails around his navel and under, that he was sucking red kisses down to his dick. Clark was drawing lines with a wet pointed tongue tip right down to the crown. He licked around the ridge, rolled the head against his mouth. It was such a good dream that Lex spread his legs wide and said, "Get on the bed," and Dream Clark snuggled between his thighs and sighed. Hot air swept over his balls and his ass and hot kisses landed on his thighs. Lex giggled at the ticklish feel of Clark’s hair there. He watched Clark’s red mouth slide down his dick until his lips pressed against his belly and sighed. Groaned when Clark pulled back and kissed the tip—what an amazing dream—he pulled Clark away with double handfuls of thick hair so he could watch Clark try to capture him again. Clark's hand wrapped around Lex's dick, red lips pressed against the deeper red of the dripping head, wet fingers, wet mouth, Clark’s eyes rolled up, he groaned like he was tasting the best thing in the world—and it was too much for Lex. Too much of a dream come to life.

Lex slapped a hand over his mouth, shouting into his palm as he came suddenly and violently on Clark’s mouth, his chin and neck…

Lex was gasping in the aftermath of his orgasm—and Clark fell back, pulled his pants open and almost faster than Lex’s eyes could follow, jerked himself off. He ground his teeth together as he came and groaned like it hurt.

Lex couldn’t stop watching him. "Jesus, Clark…Clark…God, I’m not drunk. Oh thank God."

Clark dropped over him. "Unnhh—I’d hug you but my hands are full. And my face is kind of…"

Lex yanked him close again and licked his mouth and chin clean, and they kissed, and this kiss was better than any kiss he’d ever had save one.

 

2  
 _"'Have you given any thought to getting on board with Batman’s project?"_

_"Not a bit, Fly–boy."_

_"Well, what about the other thing? Kent Farms is expanding, it needs you—Bruce wants you to take it over. It would be great, Lex…you could live at the farm again…."_

_"Let me get this straight. Bruce wants me to step down at Lexcorp and take over running Kent Farms, plus head this insanely enormous project completely outside my field of expertise…essentially, I should give my life to the Kents, because it will make Batman happy."_

_"Yes. And because it’ll be really, really cool."_

_"I’m hanging up now."_

 

3  
Lex got a small package in the mail a few days after talking to Clark. Inside the box was a slightly yellowed plastic figurine of a ghost. 

Lex’s first impulse was to throw it away. He even made it as far as the wastebasket near his desk. Instead, he put it on his desk and snorted. 

Bastard. 

He probably thought that was going to change his mind. 

Lex sat and reached for the figurine. Odd, really—sending the thing seemed remarkably sentimental for Bruce. Then again, maintaining the farmhouse was a sentimental act, but he did it. Lex set the little ghost back down. He had a feeling the house was more for Clark’s sake than for Bruce’s. He was nearly certain that Bruce didn’t need places or things, to be centered. 

He reached out for the phone and at the same moment, Sheila paged him.

"Boss, a messenger just brought up another package from Kent Farms for you."

"Thanks Sheila, bring it in?"

A few moments later the doors to his office opened and she strolled in. "Here. And the file underneath it has the clippings concerning your father." She laid the lot on his desk and frowned, looked him up and down. "You look tired—you look like hell. Have you been getting any rest? And when was the last time you ate?"

He grinned. "I ate dinner, I’m pretty sure it was last night. I think I might have fallen asleep in the shower this morning." 

"Har," she said. "You are an absolute laugh riot, *Mr. Luthor*."

She stalked out of his office and he watched her go with a small smirk and turned his attention to the thick mailer on his desk. Damn—Batman’s nutty project. He reached for the file containing the newspaper and magazine clippings, all featuring his dad and his quest to discredit him. He smiled. Good to know that some things at least never changed. He threw the file down and picked up the hefty mailer with a gusty sigh. Time to let Batman break his brain.

 

4  
He was halfway through the outline when he realized a cup of coffee was steaming at his side. "Oh, thanks Sheila, I appreciate that."

"Shelia? Kinky. Do you want me to wear a skirt too? Just so you know, I look awesome in stockings."

Lex jumped and cursed. "You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? And why the hell are you here in uniform? Haven’t we talked about that?"

Robin smiled and walked over to lock the office door, and Lex resolutely kept his eyes off his spandex clad ass. 

"I’m reading over this and I don’t know…Robin. This project the League wants—it’s going to require insane amounts of funding and time. It’ll never work…and tell him to check this list I put together of likely guys in the European space program," Lex said.

Robin nodded. "Okay. Drink your coffee—eat the rolls. I got them just for you."

"That’s hardly the use you should be applying your powers to, Robin. You’ve got more important things than flying breakfast to me—"

"Lunch."

"Whatever. Batman would implode if he knew." Lex sat back and wheeled his chair to face Robin, who perched on the edge of his desk. "Look, I’m really not sure if I’m the person for the job. What he wants to do really is impossible…well…as good as impossible. Do you realize how much money it will require?

"Yeah, but between our money and your money, we have more than we could spend in two lifetimes, and what else is it good for if it doesn’t do something worthwhile? Can you imagine when we offer people the chance to do this? Picture everyone on fire for what they’re working on, and unlimited funds…can you imagine what we can do?"

"Who are you, Robert Heinlein?" Lex snorted and leaned back in his chair. "You know I do want to be part of it, but you—Batman—wants me to give up the life I have now and just—start over? Does he really think that I’ll do that?"

"He does." Robin squeezed Lex’s shoulder, "Talk to you later." and blurred out of the room. Lex slapped his hand down on the fluttering pile of papers. He growled and shook his head. The arrogance of those two—it was truly unbelievable.   
And the press called *him* arrogant.

He settled his papers back in order and looked at the paper coffee container, sniffed appreciatively. The coffee did smell good…

He sipped and continued reading….

 

_"Bruce—Kent Inc. got an invitation to the big event. He wants you to represent us. I can pick you up. In the jet, sorry. Mmm, I can feel you thinking, Lex. I know how much you like…flying."_

_"If you could really feel me thinking, Clark, you’d have a very hard time talking right now."_

_"Slut."_

_"Takes one. Yes, tell him I’ll be there. And I’m faxing him some information about that flame retardant material for the cabins."_

BWLLCK

1  
The crowd was huge. The grandstand was packed with people and the excitement flowed over the crowd like electricity. Lex wore an old Kent Farms ball cap, partly out of sentiment but combined with the Ray-Bans, it helped him blend in the crowd.

He scanned the crowd for familiar faces, and felt a sharp spike of excitement when he recognized Clark, moving through the crowd, his height and looks clearing a path for him. He grinned ruefully, so much for trying to remain incognito—even with the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses obscuring his eyes, Clark Kent was probably recognized by quite a few in the crowd. 

He reached Lex with a huge grin. "I can’t believe Bruce didn’t want to be here for the first launch." He missed the lightening quick frown that earned from Lex. He sighed happily and let his hip rest against Lex’s for a moment, careful to move away before anyone noticed. "It’s so exciting, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it is," and Lex smiled back, "but I’m surprised it is for you, too—you’ve been out there so many times already."

"But that was me," Clark smiled. "This is really important, mankind taking steps to head back into space, like they should."

Lex let his fingertips graze Clark’s. It bothered him when Clark spoke as if he wasn’t part of the world he worked so hard to protect. Alien or not—he was still the man that Jonathan and Martha Kent raised, the son they loved dearly. Clark turned to him and for a long moment, with the rising sun making his skin glow golden, Clark looked like he did when he was a boy, eyes wide and deep, and full of warmth…and the moment passed and he grinned, all angles and shiny teeth.

"Lex, have I told you that I really like those shorts? Especially how loose the legs are?" Clark’s eyes danced, a wicked gleam shining in them and Lex shook his head.

"Clark…whatever you’re thinking, no—just—no." Whatever Clark had on his mind was obviously not a good thing, and if he decided it involved him, he was lost. He couldn’t say no to Clark, not really—Clark wouldn’t let him. 

Clark laughed wickedly—and was gone. Winked out of existence—disappeared. 

Suddenly Lex felt the most intense sensation—his dick was enveloped in heat and wet and he felt like it was being suctioned off his body and then, heat raced from his ass to his knees and he was vibrating inside and out—it felt like he was on the edge of a massive orgasm and it went on forever and ever—it was too intense. He experienced a full body orgasm that curled his toes and fingers, made every square inch of his skin shiver and his eyes roll back in his head, made his knees shake and he jerked the ball cap over his face and hoped the strangled cry as he came passed for a coughing fit —in the space of less than a minute he’d spent a lifetime orgasming. And then Clark was standing behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, face to the sun, unnoticed by the surging mass of humanity cheering in one voice as Columbia climbed on a column of white fire and smoke for the sky.

He dropped his head back on Clark’s chest, breathing heavily, Clark’s arms tightened around him—more than affectionate; they were keeping him on his feet. He could _feel_ Clark’s smirk.

"How…"

"Something I learned from Flash," Clark whispered in his ear.

Lex felt a brief stab of jealously, but squelched it. He resorted to the cool tone he used to deal with Lionel. It was useful in dealing with Clark. "Tell me, dearest. Is there any League member besides Batman that you haven’t slept with?"

Clark froze and for a moment Lex thought he overplayed it and then he felt him relax against his back, felt his lips on his ear. "Do you want to compare notches later on this evening…or we can just do this again."

Lex laughed lightly. "Watch the shuttle, take notes for Bruce. Behave."

Clark mumbled, "I always do."

 

2  
It was a cool Sunday morning, and Lex was sitting on the porch of the yellow farmhouse. He was barefoot, in jeans, with a mug cradled in his hands, watching the sun peek over the horizon. It was the start of a brand new day, and he was completely comfortable. He couldn’t even imagine a time when he rather have died than to be seen outside of his home dressed down like this—nearly undressed, he grinned. He tipped the mug up and caught sight of one of the barn cats, glaring at him from the edge of the drive. He snorted. "You’ll have to work harder than that," he smirked." I learned to ignore a look like that long ago." He was mildly surprised that for a moment, he missed the late Lionel Luthor….  
He gulped hot tea…just for a moment. 

High above the planet, unseen and unmarked, the station floated, waiting to be brought completely to life. Lex had been granted the honor of being first aboard, he’d be there to greet the League as they arrived.

The sun began to warm the air; and he sat back, enjoyed the flavor of the tea, the feel of the slightly damp porch post against his back. This was his home, and even though he looked forward with great excitement to the coming journey, he’d be back to it. He could never leave it again, not permanently. He was almost grateful to Bruce for making him come here. 

He missed Bruce sometimes…times like this when the past seemed as real and warm as this moment and it seemed he only had to turn the corner to see those boys running across the yard. Spooky, Casper, Clark, carefree, and full of life, hope, so certain that the future would be their every dream come true. The Bruce he missed lived in that past, as well as that loving, full of joy, almost too generous boy he’d fallen in love with, young Clark lived there too. He laughed a little at himself, at the maudlin turn his thoughts had taken. He was nothing like that boy he’d been then either, and that might not necessarily be a completely bad thing. You couldn’t move through life and not change. It was an immutable law of the Universe. Everything changed, and change was good—certainly compared to the alternative, he thought, with a wry smile. 

He got to his feet, a little stiffly, feeling a fleeting moment of nostalgia for young and limber muscles, and stretched. The sun was nearly over the barn, and he had to shower and pack and Clark was going to be there soon—and God knew how Clark hated to wait. And he had to remember to eat, or Clark would be tiresome and lecture him about nutrition, and taking care of himself and so on and so on…He rolled his eyes. If he lived with Clark every day, he’d be as big as a house. He snorted. He had the feeling Clark wouldn’t mind it at all. 

Lex walked through the house and back to the kitchen. He stopped and the odd fit of nostalgia that plagued him this morning flooded his memories again. Martha’s kitchen hadn’t changed that much through the years, Clark had never wanted to change anything about his mother’s kitchen—it’d been quite a battle to get him to agree to the few improvements he did make. Lex shook his head ruefully. Thank God they were far out in the country and not surrounded by neighbors….

He rinsed his mug and put it in the sink, and made toast. He double checked the kitchen and chewed away at the toast—the things he had to do to keep the man happy. He reminded himself to leave a message with the housekeeper, checked the list he planned to leave on the table. Clark was going to laugh at that but it was better to be crystal clear and avoid mistakes then to assume someone knew exactly what you expected of them. 

He went into the office that long ago had been Martha’s and sent Ashley an e-mail, again with notes and lists—she was more than capable of running the business while he was gone. Lex sighed. He did miss Sheila. He hoped sincerely that she enjoyed retirement. She’d been one hell of a tough lady, but a pleasure to work with. 

He showered and changed: a pair of dark gray trousers soft as silk, a cashmere sweater because Clark loved the feeling of it under his hands, pale lilac because Clark liked the way it made his eyes look bluer, or so he claimed…Lex went through the house one more time, closing the window in his bedroom, making sure anything personal was locked safely away. In the back of the closet, there was a safe, and inside the safe, his most personal items were stored. Photographs of the kid he’d been, journals, letters, cards…letters from Clark. He rubbed at a spot between his eyes and thought he really should let Clark burn all that stuff. It meant nothing to anyone but him anymore, those children were long dead. He opened the closet door and ran his fingertips gently over the concealed panel. Again, as always, he decided against it. An illogical part of his mind whispered as long as the contents of the safe existed, than Vic and Harry and Lex's sweet, pretty boy lived on. He straightened and grabbed his suitcase and smiled.

Time to pack.

BWLLCK

Robin lay draped over the curve of the Daily Planet globe, arms and legs wide, humming to himself. His eyes were closed and he let the slow sweep ‘round of the globe soothe him. In a matter of a few hours, he’d be taking Lex to the completed station for the first time ever. He wouldn’t need the suit, or the breather or even the Velcro slippers—it was finally ready to live in, and Lex would be the first—just like he deserved. Robin stretched and threw one arm over his head, the other dropped to his chest and his hand came to rest over the R on his chest. He sighed quietly. It was past time for him to get back on patrol.

 

He threw his senses wide and scanned for trouble. It was fairly quiet, for once the citizens didn’t seem bent on murdering each other…which normally would make him nervous, but this wasn’t his city, not his regular patrol. He’d have plenty of time to sweep his own city too before it was time to come in. 

He floated away from the Planet building and headed back at super speed to Gotham.

 

2  
It was the end of his night and he was on the roof of the old police station, crouched in the shadows. Waiting for—

"Bruce."

"…Robin." 

Clark heard the reproof in the gently spoken word. Clark wasn’t fooled by the tone, the quieter the voice, the greater the anger. Soft footsteps that barely displaced the gravel came toward him. He heard the faint stir of the cape. "No one’s listening, Batman. _You_ know that."

"And I shouldn’t have to remind you Robin, that when we're suited, we’re guardians—it’s _all_ we are." 

Clark’s hands tightened into fists, the green gauntlets flexing with a noise only he could hear. "Yeah. Okay. I’m leaving in the hour to pick up Lex."

Batman nodded. "I’ve already sent a signal squirt to the station, and checked the pod. I’m leaving shortly…" he hesitated. "If you’d like to…you can double-check the pod yourself."

Clark leaned back on the rooftop, and smiled. "Oh I planned to. I wouldn’t put my lover in something I haven’t checked thoroughly myself."

Batman turned abruptly and the cape lifted and swirled through the gravel around his feet before settling again. Calmly he said, "Of course. I’d expect no less."

"Bruce…"

 _"Robin,_ I’ll talk to you on the station. I’ll need your help running tests on our defenses." 

"Oh? Will we be testing interior defenses also—maybe the security cameras? Oh, wait, that’s right…only you have access to the cameras…."

"I’d rather not argue, Robin." 

"Argue? Brother, I’m deeply shocked. We never argue. We agree on all that’s important—and all that’s important is the mission, right?"

Batman leaned out over the edge of the roof and looked down into the streets below. "In a way, yes." He was quiet for a long moment and Clark came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He heard Bruce’s heart speed up a little before it settled into a steady rhythm, his breathing calm and even. Clark wondered if it hurt him to maintain that much control all the time. He smiled. "You know I love you, right?" Clark said, and squeezed Bruce's shoulder, rubbed a little and listened, smiling, to Bruce's heartbeat stutter. 

"The most important thing is the mission," Bruce answered, long after Clark had left him there.

 

3  
Hours later, Lex was stepping out of a pod, identical to the escape pods stationed around each ring of the space station, but this one was designed with Lex in mind, designed to be carried into space by Clark. 

He grinned up at Clark’s worried face. 

"I’m fine, it worked great—cramped a bit, I’d hate to have to spend more than a few hours in it."

"Well, I plan for you never to have to find out what that’s like." He kissed Lex’s face and hands and scanned him briefly while Lex waited patiently and with an air of sacrifice. "You done?" At Clark’s nod, he pulled the bags he’d stashed under the couch in the capsule out, and handed them to Clark. Lex cupped the back of Clark's head, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Shall we?"

 

4  
They were in Lex’s cabin, and Lex couldn’t stop grinning. The last time he’d visited, there’d been no gravity, it had been only half powered up, so some levels had been open and some not and there’d been odd spots here and there without power…now it hummed with life, and nearly squeaked with the newness. 

He stopped and shuddered. "This—this feels like an impossible dream. I feel—am I really here? Is this really happening?" 

Clark was at his side in an instant, his hands gliding up and down his arms. "Lex, it’s really happening. Look." He guided him gently to the full-length port set into the wall. "Look, see that?"

Lex could see the ball of blue above them. He put his fingers on the glass, expecting it to be cold but it was body temperature. Clark leaned closer and put his cheek against his. "It’s real." He slid his fingers under the hem of Lex’s sweater, up ribs and touched his lips to the back of his neck. "Isn’t it beautiful?"

Lex sighed and nodded and Clark pushed his sweater up higher, bunched it under his arms and rocked against Lex. Clark’s hands were splayed over his chest; his head was bent into the crook of his neck. 

"Lex." He slid the sweater completely off, leaned away and Lex watched his reflection in the glass as Clark pulled off his own shirt. When he leaned back, the skin to skin contact made Lex groan. 

"Oh my. This never ever gets old for me." Lex said.

Clark chuckled and bit him gently, rocked against him, teased his nipples. Lex was getting hard; he could feel Clark pressing against him, hard and so hot. He squirmed when Clark’s big hand slipped into the waistband of his pants, trying to give him better access and it made Clark’s erection prod him, made them both gasp. Lex arched against him when his fingers slid over the tip of his dick and squeezed gently. 

"Look, Lex, all this night…" Lex stared out into the endless might, and felt Clark slide his pants down, taking his briefs with them, felt Clark’s palms tracking heat down his thighs, making goose-bumps rise. Lex stepped out of a puddle of material on the floor—a chill raced down his back, he shivered and Clark was right there, smooth, hot, his hair stroking and tickling him. He snorted and pressed back hard, rotating his hips and Clark made a noise between a growl and a groan. "Tease. Slut."

"Me?" Lex laughed. "You’ve got me spread-eagled and naked against a window, I don’t care if anyone can see or not…wait…are the cameras off?"

Clark touched Lex’s dick, let it jump in his hand and his own dick jerked and Lex could feel pre-come drip on his back. Clark’s tongue rimmed the shell of his ear, then slowly slipped into and out in a rhythm Lex’s body recognized as the same it moved to when Clark fucked him, and reacted as strongly. He couldn’t stop his hips from moving. Clark worked his way down Lex’s body, touching every point on the way, kissing his shoulders, biting along his spine, licking and sucking the small of his back, until Lex moaned out loud and leaned against the glass, bending at the waist and letting Clark hold his hips and then he was spreading him…one hot kiss right there and he spoke. "The cameras are never off…" another kiss and the tip of Clark's tongue skated delicately over his hole and Lex’s fingers scrabbled uselessly against the smooth surface.

"What—never, but…Bruce scans the camera feed— _unh!—_ doesn’t he?" Clark didn’t answer, he nodded and bit gently down on tender flesh and Lex rose up on tiptoe and groaned "Oh, God!"

Clark spread him wider and licked wetly around and around the ring of muscle, pushing, pushing until it allowed him to slide his tongue in and Lex was nearly sobbing now, he loved when Clark did this, loved when he slid a finger, two, three, inside, loved being fucked, loved Clark's dick in him…."Fuck, Clark, Bruce is going to see—ah—"

Clark shrugged, and it did wonderful things to Lex. He leaned his forehead on the swell of his cheek and Lex knew he was watching his fingers slide in and out of him, moving them until he hit the right spot. Fireworks went off in his spine and he heard Clark say, "Doesn’t matter. I’m used to Bruce watching."

What Clark said…it fit oddly in his mind but then Clark worked his tongue in between his fingers, stretching Lex even wider and everything but that flew out of his head, lost in the sensation…Lex quivered from head to toe when Clark said, "I’m going to fuck you now—I’m warning you I probably won’t last long."

"Just shut up and fuck me," Lex moaned and Clark laughed. He slid in on one long stroke and groaned in Lex’s ear, his hot breath washed the side of his neck; Lex arched, thrust back and then his lust addled brain finally replayed what Clark had said, "Used to Bru—what?"

"Don’t talk," Clark groaned, "just fuck."

Lex’s forehead hit the glass and Clark pulled out, a long burn out and a long, hot slide in, heat, burn, push, over and over and Clark’s big hand sliding up and down on his dick, it ached so good…

Clark slid in deep and plastered himself against Lex, held him tight. Lex could feel Clark’s dick twitch inside of him, his hand tighten on him, moving faster, milking him. 

"Lex…Lex…anything you want. Everything you want," he panted in his ear, pulled out until only the head of his dick was trapped inside, and Lex whined and squirmed, desperate to have him back. "We’ll make the world safe—Bruce will do it for the people, for all the little boys like him—me, I’m doing it for you, for Bruce—I love you so much—"

He slammed into Lex, jerked back. Lex cried out in surprise, and Clark slammed into him again. "When you want it, tell me." He slammed in again and Lex howled. "Tell me," Clark said again and began fucking Lex hard, right at the very edge of his endurance, knowing exactly how much he could take and Lex made a noise that was one long howl. Clark grabbed his chin and said, "Look at your stars." and Lex came against the glass with a scream.

BWLLCK

_Over the wash of the waves against the beach, Bruce could hear a steady slap-slap of water, coming from the rocks. He was pretty certain he was the only one on the Hotel’s private beach, but it did sound like feet splashing around in water to him. He went slithering over the rocks, and there was no one there, just water splashing and breaking in little wavelets against the rocks in the tidal pool. He looked up and down the beach; it stretched both ways as far as he could see, nothing but sand shimmering in the heat. It was quiet, save for the sound of the water.  
Except…he stopped, head tilted, to listen…he heard the sound of laughter, and set out for it, walking across the sand, the sound seemed to move farther away and he walked farther and the sound moved and he walked and walked and walked…._  
Fin

5-16-2006


End file.
